THE 

DAUGHTER 

OF 
A  MAGNATE 


FRANK  H.  SPEARMAN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


TAe  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 


BOOKS  BY  FRANK  H.  SPEARMAN 

PUBLISHED   BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


DOCTOR  BRYSON $1.50 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  A  MAGNATE.    .    .    .    1.50 
THE  STRATEGY  OF  GREAT  RAILROADS  .  net,  1.50 


••- 


Gertrude  used   her  glass  constantly. 


Daughter  of  a  Magnate 


BY 

FRANK   H.   SPEARMAN 


Illustrated  by    T.   R.    Gruger 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
NEW   YORK   :::::::::    1905 


COPYRIGHT,  1903,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SON» 


Published,  October,  1903 


College 
Library 


trc 

WESLEY    HAMILTON    PECK,    M.D. 


rvs  o 

v  *      '*•  • 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  A  JUNE  WATER 3 

II.  AN  ERROR  AT  HEADQUARTERS  ....  20 

III.  INTO  THE  MOUNTAINS 34 

IV.  As  THE  DESPATCHER  SAW 46 

V.  AN  EMERGENCY  CALL 51 

VI.  THE  CAT  AND  THE  RAT 56 

VII.  TIME  BEING  MONEY 65 

VIII.  SPLITTING  THE  PAW 76 

IX.  A  TRUCE 86 

X.  AND  A  SHOCK 95 

XI.  IN  THE  LALLA  ROOKH 108 

XII.  A  SLIP  ON  A  SPECIAL 118 

XIII.  BACK  TO  THE  MOUNTAINS 130 

XIV.  GLEN  TARN 143 

XV.  NOVEMBER 157 

XVI.  NIGHT  .  .168 


Contents 

CHAP.  PACK 

XVII.  STORM 180 

XVIII.  DAYBREAK 195 

XIX.  SUSPENSE 207 

XX.  DEEPENING  WATERS 223 

XXI.  PILOT 237 

XXII.  THE  SOUTH  ARETE 244 

XXIII.  BUSINESS  .          260 


Vlll 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Gertrude  used  her  glass  constantly  .     .     .    Frontispiect 


FACING 
PACK 


"  Allen,  throw  your  coat  over  the  poor  fellow," 

she  urged 18 

"  I  wonder  whether  you  have  ever  seen  anything 

like  these,  Miss  Brock  ? "  he  asked    ...     40 

Mr.   Brock  was  a  good  questioner 74 

u  I  hate  to  see  a  man   ruin    his  own  chances  in 

this  way,"  he  was  saying 92 

The  trial  became  one  of  endurance       .     .     .     .128 

"  What  a  chance  that  I  should  meet  you  ! "  she 

exclaimed 164 

The   cold   Magnate  of    the  West  End  stood   be 
tween  the  folding  doors 210 


IX 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 


CHAPTER   I 

A   JUNE   WATER 

THE  train,  a  special,  made  up  of  a  private 
car  and  a  diner,  was  running  on  a  slow 
order  and  crawled  between  the  bluffs  at  a  snail's 
pace. 

Ahead,  the  sun  was  sinking  into  the  foot 
hills  and  wherever  the  eye  could  reach  to  the  hori 
zon  barren  wastes  lay  riotously  green  under  the 
golden  blaze.  The  river,  swollen  everywhere  out 
of  its  banks,  spread  in  a  broad  and  placid  flood 
of  yellow  over  the  bottoms,  and  a  hundred  shal 
low  lakes  studded  with  willowed  islands  marked 
its  wandering  course  to  the  south  and  east.  The 
clear,  far  air  of  the  mountains,  the  glory  of  the 
gold  on  the  June  hills  and  the  illimitable  stretch 
of  waters  below,  spellbound  the  group  on  the  ob 
servation  platform. 

"It's  a  pity,  too,"  declared  Conductor  O'Brien, 
who  was  acting  as  mountain  Baedeker,  "that  we're 
held  back  this  way  when  we're  covering  the  pret- 

3 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

tiest  stretch  on  the  road  for  running.  It  is  right 
along  here  where  you  are  riding  that  the  speed 
records  of  the  world  have  been  made.  Fourteen 
and  six-tenths  miles  were  done  in  nine  and  a  half 
minutes  just  west  of  that  curve  about  six  months 
ago — of  course  it  was  down  hill." 

Several  of  the  party  were  listening.  "Do  you 
use  speed  recorders  out  here?"  asked  Allen  Har 
rison. 

"How's  that?" 

"Do  you  use  speed  recorders?" 

"Only  on  our  slow  trains,"  replied  O'Brien. 
"To  put  speed  recorders  on  Paddy  McGraw  or 
Jimmie  the  Wind  would  be  like  timing  a  teal  duck 
with  an  eight-day  clock.  Sir?"  he  asked,  turning 
to  another  questioner  while  the  laugh  lingered  on 
his  side.  "No;  those  are  not  really  mountains  at 
all.  Those  are  the  foothills  of  the  Sleepy  Cat 
range — west  of  the  Spider  Water.  We  get  into 
that  range  about  two  hundred  miles  from  here — 
well,  I  say  they  are  west  of  the  Spider,  but  for 
ten  days  it's  been  hard  to  say  exactly  where  the 
Spider  is.  The  Spider  is  making  us  all  the  trouble 
with  high  water  just  now — and  we're  coming  out 
into  the  valley  in  about  a  minute,"  he  added  as  the 
car  gave  an  embarrassing  lurch.  "The  track  is 
certainly  soft,  but  if  you'll  stay  right  where  you 
are,  on  this  side,  ladies,  you'll  get  the  view  of  your 

4 


A  June  Water 


lives  when  we  leave  the  bluffs.  The  valley  is 
about  nine  miles  broad  and  it's  pretty  much  all 
under  water." 

Beyond  the  curve  they  were  taking  lay  a  long 
tangent  stretching  like  a  steel  wand  across  a  sea  of 
yellow,  and  as  their  engine  felt  its  way  very  gin 
gerly  out  upon  it  there  rose  from  the  slow-moving 
trucks  of  their  car  the  softened  resonance  that 
tells  of  a  sounding-board  of  waters. 

Soon  they  were  drawn  among  wooded  knolls 
between  which  hurried  little  rivers  tossed  out  of  the 
Spider  flood  into  dry  waterways  and  brawling  with 
surprised  stones  and  foaming  noisily  at  stubborn 
root  and  impassive  culvert.  Through  the  trees  the 
travellers  caught  passing  glimpses  of  shaded  eddies 
and  a  wilderness  of  placid  pools.  "And  this," 
murmured  Gertrude  Brock  to  her  sister  Marie, 
"this  is  the  Spider!"  O'Brien,  talking  to  the  men 
at  her  elbow,  overheard.  "Hardly,  Miss  Brock; 
not  yet.  You  haven't  seen  the  river  yet.  This  is 
only  the  backwater." 

They  were  rising  the  grade  to  the  bridge  ap 
proach,  and  when  they  emerged  a  few  moments 
later  from  the  woods  the  conductor  said, 
"There!" 

The  panorama  of  the  valley  lay  before  them. 
High  above  their  level  and  a  mile  away,  the 
long  thread-like  spans  of  Hailey's  great  bridge 

5 


stretched  from  pier  to  pier.  To  the  right  of  the 
higher  ground  a  fan  of  sidetracks  spread,  with 
lines  of  flat  cars  and  gondolas  loaded  with  stone, 
brush,  piling  and  timbers,  and  in  the  foreground 
two  hulking  pile-drivers,  their  leads,  like  rabbits' 
ears  laid  sleekly  back,  squatted  mysteriously. 
Switch  engines  puffed  impatiently  up  and  down 
the  ladder  track  shifting  stuff  to  the  distant 
spurs.  At  the  river  front  an  army  of  men  moved 
like  loaded  ants  over  the  dikes.  Beyond  them  the 
eye  could  mark  the  boiling  yellow  of  the  Spider, 
its  winding  channel  marked  through  the  waste  of 
waters  by  whirling  driftwood,  bobbing  wreckage 
and  plunging  trees — sweepings  of  a  thousand 
angry  miles.  "There's  the  Spider,"  repeated  the 
West  End  conductor,  pointing,  "out  there  in  the 
middle  where  you  see  things  moving  right  along. 
That's  the  Spider,  on  a  twenty-year  rampage." 
The  train,  moving  slowly,  stopped.  "I  guess 
we've  got  as  close  to  it  as  we're  going  to,  for  a 
while.  I'll  take  a  look  forward." 

It  was  the  time  of  the  June  water  in  the  moun 
tains.  A  year  earlier  the  rise  had  taken  the  Peace 
River  bridge  and  with  the  second  heavy  year  of 
snow  railroad  men  looked  for  new  trouble.  June  is 
not  a  month  for  despair,  because  the  mountain  men 
have  never  yet  scheduled  despair  as  a  West  End  lia 
bility.  But  it  is  a  month  that  puts  wrinkles  in  the 

6 


A  June  Water 

right  of  way  clear  across  the  desert  and  sows  gray 
hairs  in  the  roadmasters'  records  from  McCloud  to 
Bear  Dance.  That  June  the  mountain  streams 
roared,  the  foothills  floated,  the  plains  puffed  into 
sponge,  and  in  the  thick  of  it  all  the  Spider  Water 
took  a  man-slaughtering  streak  and  started  over 
the  Bad  Lands  across  lots.  The  big  river  forced 
Bucks'  hand  once  more,  and  to  protect  the  main 
line  Glover,  third  of  the  mountain  roadbuilders, 
was  ordered  off  the  high-line  construction  and  back 
to  the  hills  where  Brodie  and  Hailey  slept,  to 
watch  the  Spider. 

The  special  halted  on  a  tongue  of  high  ground 
flanking  the  bridge  and  extending  upstream  to 
where  the  river  was  gnawing  at  the  long  dike  that 
held  it  off  the  approach.  The  delay  was  tedious. 
Doctor  Lanning  and  Allen  Harrison  went  forward 
to  smoke.  Gertrude  Brock  took  refuge  in  a  book 
and  Mrs.  Whitney,  her  aunt,  annoyed  her  with 
stories.  Marie  Brock  and  Louise  Donner  placed 
their  chairs  where  they  could  watch  the  sorting 
and  unloading  of  never-ending  strings  of  flat  cars, 
the  spasmodic  activity  in  the  lines  of  laborers,  the 
hurrying  of  the  foremen  and  the  movement  of  the 
rapidly  shifting  fringe  of  men  on  the  danger  line 
at  the  dike. 

The  clouds  which  had  opened  for  the  dying 
splendor  of  the  day  closed  and  a  shower  swept 

7, 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

over  the  valley;  the  conductor  came  back  in  his 
raincoat — his  party  were  at  dinner.  "Are  we  to 
be  detained  much  longer?"  asked  Mrs.  Whit 
ney. 

"For  a  little  while,  I'm  afraid,"  replied  the 
trainman  diplomatically.  "I've  been  away  over 
there  on  the  dike  to  see  if  I  could  get  permission  to 
cross,  but  I  didn't  succeed." 

"Oh,  conductor!"  remonstrated  Louise  Donner. 

"And  we  don't  get  to  Medicine  Bend  to-night," 
said  Doctor  Lanning. 

"What  we  need  is  a  man  of  influence,"  sug 
gested  Harrison.  "We  ought  never  to  have  let 
your  'pa'  go,"  he  added,  turning  to  Gertrude 
Brock,  beside  whom  he  sat. 

"Can't  we  really  get  ahead?"  Gertrude  lifted 
her  brows  reproachfully  as  she  addressed  the  con 
ductor.  "It's  becoming  very  tiresome." 

O'Brien  shook  his  head. 

"Why  not  see  someone  in  authority?"  she  per 
sisted. 

"I  have  seen  the  man  in  authority,  and  nearly 
fell  into  the  river  doing  it;  then  he  turned  me 
down." 

"Did  you  tell  him  who  we  were?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Whitney. 

"I  made  all  sorts  of  pleas." 

"Does  he  know  that  Mr.  Bucks  -promised  we 
8 


A  June  Water 


should  be  in  Medicine  Bend  to-night?"  asked 
pretty  little  Marie  Brock. 

"He  wouldn't  in  the  least  mind  that." 

Mrs.  Whitney  bridled.    "Pray  who  is  he?" 

"The  construction  engineer  of  the  mountain 
division  is  the  man  in  charge  of  the  bridge  just  at 
present." 

"It  would  be  a  very  simple  matter  to  get  orders 
over  his  head,"  suggested  Harrison. 

"Not  very." 

"Mr.  Bucks?" 

"Hardly.  No  orders  would  take  us  over  that 
bridge  to-night  without  Glover's  permission." 

"What  an  autocrat!"  sighed  Mrs.  Whitney. 
"No  matter;  I  don't  care  to  go  over  it,  anyway." 

"But  I  do,"  protested  Gertrude.  "I  don't  feel 
like  staying  in  this  wTater  all  night,  if  you  please." 

"I'm  afraid  that's  what  we'll  have  to  do  for  a 
few  hours.  I  told  Mr.  Glover  he  would  be  in 
trouble  if  I  didn't  get  my  people  to  Medicine  Bend 
to-night." 

"Tell  him  again,"  laughed  Doctor  Lanning. 

Conductor  O'Brien  looked  embarrassed. 
"You'd  like  to  ask  particular  leave  of  Mr.  Glover 
for  us,  I  know,"  suggested  Miss  Donner. 

"Well,  hardly — the  second  time — not  of  Mr. 
Glover."  A  sheet  of  rain  drenched  the  plate-glass 
windows.  "But  I'm  going  to  watch  things  and 

9 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

we'll  get  out  just  as  soon  as  possible.  I  know  Mr. 
Glover  pretty  well.  He  is  all  right,  but  he's  been 
down  here  now  a  week  without  getting  out  of  his 
clothes  and  the  river  rising  on  him  every  hour. 
They've  got  every  grain  bag  between  Salt  Lake  and 
Chicago  and  they're  filling  them  with  sand  and 
dumping  them  in  where  the  river  is  cutting." 

"Any  danger  of  the  bridge  going?"  asked  the 
doctor. 

"None  in  the  world,  but  there's  a  lot  of  danger 
that  the  river  will  go.  That  would  leave  the 
bridge  hanging  over  dry  land.  The  fight  is  to 
hold  the  main  channel  where  it  belongs.  They're 
getting  rock  over  the  bridge  from  across  the  river 
and  strengthening  the  approach  for  fear  the  diks 
should  give  way.  The  track  is  busy  every  minute, 
so  I  couldn't  make  much  impression  on  Mr. 
Glover." 

There  was  light  talk  of  a  deputation  to  the 
dike,  followed  by  the  resignation  of  travellers, 
cards  afterward,  and  ping-pong.  With  the  deep 
ening  of  the  night  the  rain  fell  harder,  and  the 
wind  rising  in  gusts  drove  it  against  the  glass. 
When  the  women  retired  to  their  compartments 
the  train  had  been  set  over  above  the  bridge  where 
the  wind,  now  hard  from  the  southeast,  sung 
steadily  around  the  car. 

Gertrude  Brock  could  not  sleep.  After  being 
10 


A  June  Water 


long  awake  she  turned  on  the  light  and  looked  at 
her  watch;  it  was  one  o'clock.  The  wind  made 
her  restless  and  the  air  in  the  stateroom  had  be 
come  oppressive.  She  dressed  and  opened  her 
door.  The  lights  were  very  low  and  the  car  was 
silent;  all  were  asleep. 

At  the  rear  end  she  raised  a  window-shade.  The 
night  was  lighted  by  strange  waves  of  lightning, 
and  thunder  rumbled  in  the  distance  unceasingly. 
Where  she  sat  she  could  see  the  sidings  filled  with 
cars,  and  when  a  sharper  flash  lighted  the  back 
water  of  the  lakes,  vague  outlines  of  far-off  bluffs 
beetled  into  the  sky. 

She  drew  the  shade,  for  the  continuous  lightning 
added  to  her  disquiet.  As  she  did  so  the  rain 
drove  harshly  against  the  car  and  she  retreated 
to  the  other  side.  Feeling  presently  the  coolness 
of  the  air  she  walked  to  her  stateroom  for  her 
Newmarket  coat,  and  wrapping  it  about  her,  sunk 
into  a  chair  and  closed  her  eyes.  She  had  hardly 
fallen  asleep  when  a  crash  of  thunder  split  the 
night  and  woke  her.  As  it  rolled  angrily  away  she 
quickly  raised  the  window-curtain. 

The  heavens  were  frenzied.  She  looked  toward 
the  river.  Electrical  flashes  charging  from  end 
to  end  of  the  angry  sky  lighted  the  bridge,  re 
flected  the  black  face  of  the  river  and  paled  flicker 
ing  lights  and  flaming  torches  where,  on  vanishing 

ii 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

stretches  of  dike,  an  army  of  dim  figures,  moving 
unceasingly,  lent  awe  to  the  spectacle. 

She  could  see  smoke  from  the  hurrying  switch 
engines  whirled  viciously  up  into  the  sweeping 
night  and  above  her  head  the  wind  screamed.  A 
gale  from  the  southwest  was  hurling  the  Spider 
against  the  revetment  that  held  the  eastern  shore 
and  the  day  and  the  night  gangs  together  were 
reinforcing  it.  Where  the  dike  gave  under  the 
terrific  pounding,  or  where  swiftly  boiling  pools 
sucked  under  the  heavy  piling,  Glover's  men  were 
sinking  fresh  relays  of  mattresses  and  loading 
them  with  stone. 

At  moments  laden  flat  cars  were  pushed  to  the 
brink  of  the  flood,  and  men  with  picks  and  bars 
rose  spirit-like  out  of  black  shadows  to  scramble 
up  their  sides  and  dump  rubble  on  the  sunken 
brush.  Other  men  toiling  in  unending  procession 
wheeled  and  slung  sandbags  upon  the  revetment; 
others  stirred  crackling  watchfires  that  leaped  high 
into  the  rain,  and  over  all  played  the  incessant 
lightning  and  the  angry  thunder  and  the  flying 
night. 

She  shut  from  her  eyes  the  strangely  moving 
sight,  returned  to  her  compartment,  closed  her 
door  and  lay  down.  It  was  quieter  within  the  little 
room  and  the  fury  of  the  storm  was  less  appalling. 

Half  dreaming  as  she  lay,  mountains  shrouded 
12 


A  June  Water 

in  a  deathly  lightning  loomed  wavering  before  her, 
and  one,  most  terrible  of  all,  she  strove  unwillingly 
to  climb.  Up  she  struggled,  clinging  and  slipping, 
a  cramping  fear  over  all  her  senses,  her  ankles 
clutched  in  icy  fetters,  until  from  above,  an  appari 
tion,  strange  and  threatening,  pushed  her,  scream 
ing,  and  she  swooned  into  an  awful  gulf. 

"Gertrude !  Gertrude !  Wake  up  I"  cried  a 
frightened  voice. 

The  car  was  rocking  in  the  wind,  and  as  Ger 
trude  opened  her  door  Louise  Donner  stumbled 
terrified  into  her  arms.  "Did  you  hear  that  awful, 
awful  crash?  I'm  sure  the  car  has  been  struck." 

"No,  no,  Louise;" 

"It  surely  has  been.  Oh,  let  us  waken  the  men 
at  once,  Gertrude;  we  shall  be  killed!" 

The  two  clung  to  one  another.  "I'm  afraid  to 
stay  alone,  Gertrude,"  sobbed  her  companion. 

"Stay  with  me,  Louise.  Come."  While  they 
spoke  the  wind  died  and  for  a  moment  the  light 
ning  ceased,  but  the  calm,  like  the  storm,  was 
terrifying.  As  they  stood  breathless  a  report  like 
the  ripping  of  a  battery  burst  over  their  heads, 
a  blast  shook  the  heavy  car  and  howled  shrilly 
away. 

Sleep  was  out  of  the  question.  Gertrude  looked 
at  her  watch.  It  was  four  o'clock.  The  two 
dressed  and  sat  together  till  daylight.  When  morn- 

13 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

ing  broke,  dark  and  gray,  the  storm  had  passed 
and  out  of  the  leaden  sky  a  drizzle  of  rain  was 
falling.  Beside  the  car  men  were  moving.  The 
forward  door  was  open  and  the  conductor  in  his 
stormcoat  walked  in. 

"Everything  is  all  right  this  morning,  ladies," 
he  smiled. 

"All  right?  I  should  think  everything  all 
wrong,"  exclaimed  Louise.  "We  have  been 
frightened  to  death." 

"They've  got  the  cutting  stopped,"  continued 
O'Brien,  smiling.  "Mr.  Glover  has  left  the  dike. 
He  just  told  me  the  river  had  fallen  six  inches 
since  two  o'clock.  We'll  be  out  of  here  now  as 
quick  as  we  can  get  an  engine :  they've  been  switch 
ing  with  ours.  There  was  considerable  wind  in 
the  night " 

"Considerable  wind  I" 

"You  didn't  notice  it,  did  you?  Glover  loaded 
the  bridge  with  freight  trains  about  twelve  o'clock 
and  I'm  thinking  it's  lucky,  for  when  the  wind 
went  into  the  northeast  about  four  o'clock  I 
thought  it  would  take  my  head  off.  It  snapped 
like  dynamite  clear  across  the  valley." 

"Oh,  we  heard!" 

"When  the  wind  jumped,  a  crew  was  dumping 
stone  into  the  river.  The  men  were  ordered  off 
the  flat  cars  but  there  were  so  many  they  didn't 


A  June  Water 


all  get  the  word  at  once,  and  while  the  foreman 
was  chasing  them  down  he  was  blown  clean  into 
the  river." 

"Drowned?" 

"No,  he  was  not.  He  crawled  out  away  down 
by  the  bridge,  though  a  man  couldn't  have  done 
it  once  in  a  thousand  times.  It  was  old  Bill  Dan 
cing — he's  got  more  lives  than  a  cat.  Do  you  re 
member  where  we  first  pulled  up  the  train  in  the 
afternoon?  A  string  of  ten  box  cars  stood  there 
last  night  and  when  the  wind  shifted  it  blew  the 
whole  bunch  off  the  track." 

"Oh,  do  let  us  get  away  from  here,"  urged 
Gertrude.  "I  feel  as  if  something  worse  would 
happen  if  we  stayed.  I'm  sorry  we  ever  left 
McCloud  yesterday." 

The  men  came  from  their  compartments  and 
there  was  more  talk  of  the  storm.  Clem  and  his 
helpers  were  starting  breakfast  in  the  dining-car 
and  the  doctor  and  Harrison  wanted  to  walk  down 
to  see  where  the  river  had  cut  into  the  dike.  Mrs. 
Whitney  had  not  appeared  and  they  asked  the 
young  ladies  to  go  with  them.  Gertrude  objected. 
A  foggy  haze  hung  over  the  valley. 

"Come  along,"  urged  Harrison;  "the  air  will 
give  you  an  appetite." 

After  some  remonstrating  she  put  on  her  heavy 
coat,  and  carrying  umbrellas  the  four  started 

15 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

under  the  conductor's  guidance  across  to  the  dike. 
They  picked  their  steps  along  curving  tracks,  be 
tween  material  piles  and  through  the  debris  of  the 
night.  On  the  dike  they  spent  some  time  looking 
at  the  gaps  and  listening  to  explanations  of  how 
the  river  worked  to  undermine  and  how  it  had 
been  checked.  Watchers  hooded  in  yellow  slickers 
patrolled  the  narrow  jetties  or,  motionless,  studied 
the  eddies  boiling  at  their  feet. 

Returning,  the  party  walked  around  the  edge 
of  the  camp  where  cooks  were  busy  about  steaming 
kettles.  Under  long,  open  tents  wearied  men 
lying  on  scattered  hay  slept  after  the  hardship  of 
the  night.  In  the  drizzling  haze  half  a  dozen 
men,  assistants  to  the  engineer — rough  looking  but 
strong-featured  and  quick-eyed — sat  with  buckets 
of  steaming  coffee  about  a  huge  campfire.  Four 
men  bearing  a  litter  came  down  the  path.  Doctor 
Lanning  halted  them.  A  laborer  had  been  pinched 
during  the  night  between  loads  of  piling  projecting 
over  the  ends  of  flat  cars  and  they  told  the  doctor 
his  chest  was  hurt.  A  soiled  neckcloth  covered  his 
face  but  his  stertorous  breathing  could  be  heard, 
and  Gertrude  Brock  begged  the  doctor  to  go  to  the 
camp  with  the  injured  man  and  see  whether  some 
thing  could  not  be  done  to  relieve  him  until  the 
company  surgeon  arrived.  The  doctor,  with 
O'Brien,  turned  back.  Gertrude,  depressed  bv  the 

16 


A  June  Water 


incident,  followed  Louise  and  Allen  Harrison 
along  the  path  which  wound  round  a  clump  of 
willows  flanking  the  campfire. 

On  the  sloping  bank  below  the  trees  and  a  little 
out  of  the  wind  a  man  on  a  mattress  of  willows 
lay  stretched  asleep.  He  was  clad  in  leather,  mud- 
stained  and  wrinkled,  and  the  big  brown  boots 
that  cased  his  feet  were  strapped  tightly  above  his 
knees.  An  arm,  outstretched,  supported  his  head, 
hidden  under  a  soft  gray  hat.  Like  the  thick 
gloves  that  covered  his  clasped  hands,  his  hat  and 
the  handkerchief  knotted  about  his  neck  were 
soaked  by  the  rain,  falling  quietly  and  trickling 
down  the  furrows  of  his  leather  coat.  But  his 
attitude  was  one  of  exhaustion,  and  trifles  of  dis 
comfort  were  lost  in  his  deep  respiration. 

"Oh !"  exclaimed  Gertrude  Brock  under  her 
breath,  "look  at  that  poor  fellow  asleep  in  the 
rain.  Allen?" 

Allen  Harrison,  ahead,  was  struggling  to  hold 
his  umbrella  upright  while  he  rolled  a  cigarette. 
He  turned  as  he  passed  the  paper  across  his  lips. 
"Throw  your  coat  over  him,  Allen." 

Harrison  pasted  the  paper  roll,  and  putting  it 
to  his  mouth  felt  for  his  matchcase.  "Throw  my 
coat  over  him !" 

"Yes." 

Allen  took  out  a  match.  "Well,  I  like  that. 
17 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

That's  like  you,   Gertrude.    Suppose  you  throw 
your  coat  over  him." 

Gertrude  looked  silently  at  her  companion. 
There  is  a  moment  when  women  should  be  hu 
mored;  not  all  men  are  fortunate  enough  to 
recognize  it.  Louise,  still  walking  ahead,  called, 
"Come  on,"  but  Gertrude  did  not  move. 

"Allen,  throw  your  coat  over  the  poor  fellow," 
she  urged.  "You  wouldn't  let  your  dog  lie  like 
that  in  the  rain." 

"But,  Gertrude — do  me  the  kindness" — he 
passed  his  umbrella  to  her  that  he  might  better 
manage  the  lighting — "he's  not  my  dog." 

If  she  made  answer  it  was  only  in  the  expression 
of  her  eyes.  She  handed  the  umbrella  back,  flung 
open  her  long  coat  and  slipped  it  from  her 
shoulders.  With  the  heavy  garment  in  her  hands 
she  stepped  from  her  path  toward  the  sleeper  and 
noticed  for  the  first  time  an  utterly  disreputable- 
looking  dog  lying  beside  him  in  the  weeds.  The 
dog's  long  hair  was  bedraggled  to  the  color  of  the 
mud  he  curled  in,  and  as  he  opened  his  eyes  with 
out  raising  his  head,  Gertrude  hesitated;  but  his 
tail  spoke  a  kindly  greeting.  He  knew  no  harm 
was  meant  and  he  watched  unconcernedly  while, 
determined  not  to  recede  from  her  impulse,  Ger 
trude  stepped  hastily  to  the  sleeper's  side  and 
dropped  her  coat  over  his  shoulders. 

18 


"Allen,    throw   your   coat   over  the   poor  fellow,"    she    urged. 


A  June  Water 


Louise  was  too  far  ahead  to  notice  the  incident. 
After  breakfast  she  asked  Gertrude  what  the  mat 
ter  was. 

"Nothing.  Allen  and  I  had  our  first  quarrel 
this  morning." 

As  she  spoke,  the  train,  high  in  the  air,  was 
creeping  over  the  Spider  bridge. 


CHAPTER    II 

AN    ERROR   AT   HEADQUARTERS 

WHEN  the  Brock-Harrison  party,  familiarly 
known — among  those  with  whom  they 
were  by  no  means  familiar — as  the  Steel  Crowd, 
bought  the  transcontinental  lines  that  J.  S.  Bucks, 
the  second  vice-president  and  general  manager, 
had  built  up  into  a  system,  their  first  visit  to  the 
West  End  was  awaited  with  some  uneasiness.  An 
impression  prevailed  that  the  new  owners  might 
take  decided  liberties  with  what  Conductor 
O'Brien  termed  the  "personal"  of  the  operating 
department. 

But  week  after  week  followed  the  widely 
heralded  announcement  of  the  purchase  without 
the  looked-for  visit  from  the  new  owners.  Dur 
ing  the  interval  West  End  men  from  the  general 
superintendent  down  were  admittedly  on  edge — 
with  the  exception  of  Conductor  O'Brien.  "If  I 
go,  I  go,"  was  all  he  said,  and  in  making  the  state 
ment  in  his  even,  significant  way  it  was  generally 
understood  that  the  trainman  that  ran  the  pay- 
cars  and  the  swell  mountain  specials  had  in  view 

20 


An  Error  at  Headquarters 

a  superintendency  on  the  New  York  Central.  On 
what  he  rested  his  confidence  in  the  opening  no 
one  certainly  knew,  though  Pat  Francis  claimed  it 
was  based  wholly  on  a  cigar  in  a  glass  case  once 
given  to  the  genial  conductor  by  Chauncey  M. 
Depew  when  travelling  special  to  the  coast  under 
his  charge. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  when  the  West  End  was  at 
last  electrified  by  the  announcement  that  the  Brock- 
Harrison  syndicate  train  had  already  crossed  the 
Missouri  and  might  be  expected  any  day,  O'Brien 
with  his  usual  luck  was  detailed  as  one  of  the  con 
ductors  to  take  charge  of  the  visitors. 

The  pang  in  the  operating  department  was  that 
the  long-delayed  inspection  tour  should  have  come 
just  at  a  time  when  the  water  had  softened  things 
until  every  train  on  the  mountain  division  was 
run  under  slow-orders. 

At  McCloud  Vice-president  Bucks,  a  very  old 
campaigner,  had  held  the  party  for  two  days  to 
avoid  the  adverse  conditions  in  the  west  and 
turned  the  financiers  of  the  party  south  to  inspect 
branches  while  the  road  was  drying  in  the  hills. 
But  the  party  of  visitors  contained  two  distinct 
elements,  the  money-makers  and  the  money- 
spenders — the  generation  that  made  the  invest 
ment  and  the  generation  that  distributed  the  divi 
dends.  The  young  people  rebelled  at  branch  line 

21 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

trips  and  insisted  on  heading  for  sightseeing  and 
hunting  straight  into  the  mountains.  Accordingly, 
at  McCloud  the  party  split,  and  while  Henry  S. 
Brock  and  his  business  associates  looked  over  the 
branches,  his  private  cars  containing  his  family 
and  certain  of  their  friends  were  headed  for  the 
headquarters  of  the  mountain  division,  Medicine 
Bend. 

Medicine  Bend  is  not  quite  the  same  town 
it  used  to  be,  and  disappointment  must  neces 
sarily  attend  efforts  to  identify  the  once  familiar 
landmarks  of  the  mountain  division.  Improve 
ment,  implacable  priestess  of  American  industry, 
has  well-nigh  obliterated  the  picturesque  features 
of  pioneer  days.  The  very  right  of  way  of  the 
earliest  overland  line,  abandoned  for  miles  and 
miles,  is  seen  now  from  the  car  windows  bleach 
ing  on  the  desert.  So  once  its  own  rails,  vigorous 
and  aggressive,  skirted  grinning  heaps  of  buffalo 
bones,  and  its  own  tangents  were  spiked  across  the 
grave  of  pony  rider  and  Indian  brave — the  king 
was:  the  king  is. 

But  the  Sweetgrass  winds  are  the  same.  The 
same  snows  whiten  the  peaks,  the  same  sun  dies  in 
western  glory,  and  the  mountains  still  see  nestling 
among  the  tracks  at  the  bend  of  the  Medicine 
River  the  first  headquarters  building  of  the  moun 
tain  division,  nicknamed  The  Wickiup.  What,  in 

22 


An  Error  at  Headquarters 

the  face  of  continual  and  unrelenting  changes, 
could  have  saved  the  Wickiup?  Not  the  fact  that 
the  crazy  old  gables  can  boast  the  storm  and  stress 
of  the  mad  railroad  life  of  another  day  than  this 
— for  every  deserted  curve  and  hill  of  the  line  can 
do  as  much.  The  Wickiup  has  a  better  claim  to 
immortality,  for  once  its  cracked  and  smoky  walls, 
raised  solely  to  house  the  problems  and  perplex 
ities  of  the  operating  department,  sheltered  a  pair 
of  lovers,  so  strenuous  in  their  perplexities  that 
even  yet  in  the  gleam  of  the  long  night-fires  of  the 
West  End  their  story  is  told. 

In  that  day  the  construction  department  of  the 
mountain  division  was  cooped  up  at  one  end  of  the 
hall  on  the  second  floor  of  the  building.  Bucks  at 
that  time  thought  twice  before  he  indorsed  one 
of  Glover's  twenty-thousand-dollar  specifications. 
Now,  with  the  department  occupying  the  entire 
third  floor  and  pushing  out  of  the  dormer  windows, 
a  million-dollar  estimate  goes  through  like  a 
requisition  for  postage  stamps. 

But  in  spite  of  his  hole-in-the-wall  office,  Glover, 
the  construction  engineer  of  thkt  day,  was  a  man 
to  be  reckoned  with  in  estimates  of  West  End  men. 
They  knew  him  for  a  captain  long  before  he  left 
his  mark  on  the  Spider  the  time  he  held  the  river 
for  a  straight  week  at  twenty-eight  feet,  bitted 
and  gagged  between  Hailey's  piers,  and  forced 

23 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

the  yellow  tramp  to  understand  that  if  it  had 
killed  Hailey  there  were  equally  bad  men  left  on 
the  mountain  pay-roll.  Glover,  it  may  be  said, 
took  his  final  degrees  in  engineering  in  the 
Grand  Canon;  he  was  a  member  of  the  Bush  party, 
and  of  the  four  that  got  back  alive  to  Medicine 
one  was  Ab  Glover. 

Glover  rebuilt  the  whole  system  of  snowsheds 
on  the  West  End,  practically  everything  from  the 
Peace  to  the  Sierras.  Every  section  foreman  in 
the  railroad  Bad  Lands  knew  Glover.  Just  how 
he  happened  to  lose  his  position  as  chief  engineer 
of  the  system — for  he  was  a  big  man  on  the  East 
End  when  he  first  came  with  the  road — no  one 
certainly  knew.  Some  said  he  spoke  his  mind  too 
freely — a  bad  trait  in  a  railroad  man;  others  said 
he  could  not  hold  down  the  job.  All  they  knew 
in  the  mountains  was  that  as  a  snow  fighter  he 
could  wear  out  all  the  plows  on  the  division,  and 
that  if  a  branch  line  were  needed  in  haste  Glover 
would  have  the  rails  down  before  an  ordinary  man 
could  get  his  bids  in. 

Ordinarily  these  things  are  expected  from  a 
mountain  constructionist  and  elicit  no  comment 
from  headquarters,  but  the  matter  at  the  Spider 
was  one  that  could  hardly  pass  unnoticed.  For  a 
year  Glover  had  been  begging  for  a  stenographer. 
Writing,  to  him,  was  as  distasteful  as  soda-water, 

24 


An  Error  at  Headquarters 

and  one  morning  soon  after  his  return  from  the 
valley  flood  a  letter  came  with  the  news  that  a 
competent  stenographer  had  been  assigned  to  him 
and  would  report  at  once  for  duty  at  Medicine 
Bend. 

Glover  emerged  from  his  hall-office  in  great 
spirits  and  showed  the  letter  to  Callahan, 
the  general  superintendent,  for  congratulations. 
"That  is  right,"  commented  Callahan  cynically. 
"You  saved  them  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  last 
month — they  are  going  to  blow  ten  a  week  on  you. 
By  the  way,  your  stenographer  is  here." 

"He  is?" 

"She  is.  Your  stenographer,  a  very  dignified 
young  lady,  came  in  on  Number  One.  You  had 
better  go  and  get  shaved.  She  has  been  in  to  in 
quire  for  you  and  has  gone  to  look  up  a  boarding- 
place.  Get  her  started  as  soon  as  you  can — I  want 
to  see  your  figures  on  the  Rat  Canon  work." 

A  helper  now  would  be  a  boon  from  heaven. 
"But  she  won't  stay  long  after  she  sees  this  office," 
Glover  reflected  ruefully  as  he  returned  to  it.  He 
knew  from  experience  that  stenographers  were 
hard  to  hold  at  Medicine  Bend.  They  usually 
came  out  for  their  health  and  left  at  the  slightest 
symptoms  of  improvement.  He  worried  as  to 
whether  he  might  possibly  have  been  unlucky 
enough  to  draw  another  invalid.  And  at  the  very 

25 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

moment  he  had  determined  he  would  not  lose  his 
new  assistant  if  good  treatment  would  keep  her 
he  saw  a  trainman  far  down  the  gloomy  hall  point 
ing  a  finger  in  his  direction — saw  a  young  lady 
coming  toward  him  and  realized  he  ought  to  have 
taken  time  that  morning  to  get  shaved. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  make  the  best  of 
it;  dismissing  his  embarrassment  he  rose  to  greet 
the  newcomer.  His  first  reflection  was  that  he 
had  not  drawn  an  invalid,  for  he  had  never  seen  a 
fresher  face  in  his  life,  and  her  bearing  had  the 
confidence  of  health  itself. 

"I  heard  you  had  been  here,"  he  said  reassur 
ingly  as  the  young  lady  hesitated  at  his  door. 

"Pardon  me?" 

"I  heard  you  had  been  here,"  he  repeated  with 
deference. 

"I  wish  to  send  a  despatch,"  she  replied  with 
an  odd  intonation.  Her  reply  seemed  so  at  vari 
ance  with  his  greeting  that  a  chill  tempered  his 
enthusiasm.  Could  they  possibly  have  sent  him  a 
deaf  stenographer? — one  worn  in  the  exacting 
service  at  headquarters?  There  was  always  a  fly 
somewhere  in  his  ointment,  and  so  capable  and 
engaging  a  young  lady  seemed  really  too  good  to 
be  true.  He  saw  the  message  blank  in  her  hand. 
"Let  me  take  it,"  he  suggested,  and  added,  raising 
his  voice,  "It  shall  go  at  once."  The  young  lady 

26 


An  Error  at  Headquarters 

gave  him  the  message  and  sitting  down  at  his  desk 
he  pressed  an  electric  call.  Whatever  her  mis 
fortunes  she  enlisted  his  sympathy  instantly,  and 
as  no  one  had  ever  accused  him  of  having  a  weak 
voice  he  determined  he  would  make  the  best  of  the 
situation.  "Be  seated,  please,"  he  said.  She 
looked  at  him  curiously.  "Pray,  be  seated,"  he 
repeated  more  firmly. 

"I  desire  only  to  pay  for  my  telegram." 

"Not  at  all.  It  isn't  necessary.  Just  be 
seated!" 

In  some  bewilderment  she  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  chair  beside  which  she  stood. 

"We  are  cramped  for  room  at  present  in  the 
construction  department,"  he  went  on,  affixing  his 
frank  to  the  telegram.  "Here,  Gloomy,  rush  this, 
my  boy,"  said  he  to  the  messenger,  who  came 
through  a  door  connecting  with  the  operator's 
room.  "But  we  have  the  promise  of  more  space 
soon,"  he  resumed,  addressing  the  young  lady 
hopefully.  "I  have  had  your  desk  placed  there 
to  give  you  the  benefit  of  the  south  light." 

The  stenographer  studied  the  superintendent  of 
construction  with  some  surprise.  His  determina 
tion  to  provide  for  her  comfort  was  most  apparent 
and  his  apologies  for  his  crowded  quarters  were 
so  sincere  that  they  could  not  but  appeal  to  a 
stranger.  Her  expression  changed.  Glover  felt 

27 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

that  he  ought  to  ask  her  to  take  off  her  hat,  but 
could  not  for  his  life.  The  frankness  of  her  eyes 
was  rather  too  confusing  to  support  very  much  of 
at  once,  and  he  busied  himself  at  sorting  the  blue 
prints  on  his  table,  guiltily  aware  that  she  was 
alive  to  his  unshaven  condition.  He  endeavored 
to  lead  the  conversation.  "We  have  excellent 
prospects  of  a  new  headquarters  building."  As 
he  spoke  he  looked  up.  Her  eyes  were  certainly 
extraordinary.  Could  she  be  laughing  at  him? 
The  prospect  of  a  new  building  had  been,  it  was 
true,  a  joke  for  many  years  and  evidently  she  put 
no  more  confidence  in  the  statement  than  he  did 
himself.  "Of  course,  you  are  aware,"  he  con 
tinued  to  bolster  his  assertion,  "that  the  road  has 
been  bought  by  an  immensely  rich  lot  of  Pittsburg 
duffers " 

The  stenographer  half  rose  in  her  chair.  "Will 
it  not  be  possible  for  me  to  pay  for  my  message 
at  once?"  she  asked  somewhat  peremptorily. 

"I  have  already  franked  it." 

"But  I  did  not " 

"Don't  mention  it.  All  I  will  ask  in  return  is 
that  you  will  help  me  get  some  letters  out  of  the 
way  to-day,"  returned  Glover,  laying  a  pencil  and 
note-book  on  the  desk  before  her.  "The  other 
work  may  go  till  to-morrow.  By  the  way,  have 
you  found  a  boarding-place?" 

28 


An  Error  at  Headquarters 

"A  boarding-place?" 

"I  understand  you  were  looking  for  one." 

"I  have  one." 

"The  first  letter  is  to  Mr.  Bucks — I  fancy  you 
know  his  address —  She  did  not  begin  with 
alacrity.  Their  eyes  met,  and  in  hers  there  was  a 
queerish  expression. 

"I'm  not  at  all  sure  I  ought  to  undertake  this," 
she  said  rapidly  and  with  a  touch  of  disdainful 
mischief. 

"Give  yourself  no  uneasiness — "  he  began. 

"It  is  you  I  fear  who  are  giving  yourself  un 
easiness,"  she  interrupted. 

"No,  I  dictate  very  slowly.  Let's  make  a  trial 
anyway."  To  avoid  embarrassment  he  looked  the 
other  way  when  he  saw  she  had  taken  up  the 
pencil. 

"My  Dear  Bucks,"  he  began.  "Your  letter  with 
programme  for  the  Pittsburg  party  is  received. 
Why  am  I  to  be  nailed  to  the  cross  with  part  of  the 
entertaining?  There's  no  hunting  now.  The  hair 
is  falling  off  grizzlies  and  Goff  wouldn't  take  his 
dogs  out  at  this  season  for  the  President  of  the 
United  States.  What  would  you  think  of  detail 
ing  Paddy  McGraw  to  give  the  young  men  a  fast 
ride — they  have  heard  of  him.  I  talked  yester 
day  with  one  of  them.  He  wanted  to  see  a 
train  robber  and  I  introduced  him  to  Conductor 

29 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

O'Brien,  but  he  never  saw  the  joke,  and  you  know 
how  depressing  explanations  are.  Don't,  my  dear 
Bucks,  put  me  on  a  private  car  with  these  people 
for  four  weeks — my  brother  died  of  paresis " 

"Oh !"  He  turned.  The  stenographer's 
cheeks  were  burning;  she  was  astonishingly  pretty. 
"I'm  going  too  fast,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Glover. 

"I  do  not  think  I  had  better  attempt  to  con 
tinue,"  she  answered,  rising.  Her  eyes  fairly 
burned  the  brown  mountain  engineer. 

"As  you  like,"  he  replied,  rising  too,  "It  was 
hardly  fair  to  ask  you  to  work  to-day.  By  the 
way,  Mr.  Bucks  forgot  to  give  me  your  name." 

"Is  it  necessary  that  you  should  have  my 
name?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  returned  Glover  with  in 
sistent  consideration,  "any  name  at  all  will  do,  so 
I  shall  know  what  to  call  you." 

For  an  instant  she  seemed  unable  to  catch  her 
breath,  and  he  was  about  to  explain  that  the  rare 
fied  air  often  affected  newcomers  in  that  way  when 
she  answered  with  some  intensity,  "I  am  Miss 
Brock.  I  never  have  occasion  to  use  any  other 
name." 

Whatever  result  she  looked  for  from  her  spir 
ited  words,  his  manner  lost  none  of  its  urbanity. 
"Indeed?  That's  the  name  of  our  Pittsburg  mag 
nate.  You  ought  to  be  sure  of  a  position  under 

30 


An  Error  at  Headquarters 

him — you  might  turn  out  to  be  a  relation,"  he 
laughed,  softly. 

"Quite  possibly." 

"Do  not  return  this  afternoon,"  he  continued 
as  she  backed  away  from  him.  "This  mountain 
air  is  exhausting  at  first " 

"Your  letters?"  she  queried  with  an  expression 
that  approached  pleasant  irony. 

"They  may  wait." 

She  courtesied  quaintly.  He  had  never  seen  such 
a  woman  in  his  life,  and  as  his  eyes  fixed  on  her 
down  the  dim  hall  he  was  overpowered  by  the 
grace  of  her  vanishing  figure. 

Sitting  at  his  table  he  was  still  thinking  of  her 
when  Solomon,  the  messenger,  came  in  with  a 
telegram.  The  boy  sat  down  opposite  the  engi 
neer,  while  the  latter  read  the  message. 

"That  Miss  Brock  is  fine,  isn't  she?" 

Glover  scowled.  "I  took  a  despatch  over  to 
the  car  yesterday  and  she  gave  me  a  dollar,"  con 
tinued  Solomon. 

"What  car?" 

"Her  car.    She's  in  that  Pittsburg  party." 

"The  young  lady  that  sat  here  a  moment  ago?" 

"Sure;  didn't  you  know?  There  she  goes  now 
to  the  car  again."  Glover  stepped  to  the  east 
window.  A  young  lady  was  gathering  up  her 
gown  to  mount  the  car-step  and  a  porter  was  as- 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

sisting  her.  The  daintiness  of  her  manner  was 
a  nightmare  of  conviction.  Glover  turned  from 
the  window  and  began  tearing  up  papers  on  his 
table.  He  tore  up  all  the  worthless  papers  in 
sight  and  for  months  afterward  missed  valuable 
ones.  When  he  had  filled  the  waste-basket  he 
rammed  blue-prints  down  into  it  with  his  foot  until 
he  succeeded  in  smashing  it.  Then  he  sat  down 
and  held  his  head  between  his  hands. 

She  was  entitled  to  an  apology,  or  an  attempt  at 
one  at  least,  and  though  he  would  rather  have 
faced  a  Sweetgrass  blizzard  than  an  interview  he 
set  his  lips  and  with  bitterness  in  his  heart  made 
his  preparations.  The  incident  only  renewed  his 
confidence  in  his  incredible  stupidity,  but  what  he 
felt  was  that  a  girl  with  such  eyes  as  hers  could 
never  be  brought  to  believe  it  genuine. 

An  hour  afterward  he  knocked  at  the  door  of 
the  long  olive  car  that  stood  east  of  the  station. 
The  hand-rails  were  very  bright  and  the  large 
plate  windows  shone  spotless,  but  the  brown 
shades  inside  were  drawn.  Glover  touched  the 
call-button  and  to  the  uniformed  colored  man  who 
answered  he  gave  his  card  asking  for  Miss  Brock. 

An  instant  during  which  he  had  once  waited  for 
a  dynamite  blast  when  unable  to  get  safely  away, 
came  back  to  him.  Standing  on  the  handsome 
platform  he  remembered  wondering  at  that  time 


An  Error  at  Headquarters 

whether  he  should  land  in  one  place  or  in  several 
places.  Now,  he  wished  himself  away  from  that 
door  even  if  he  had  to  crouch  again  on  the  ledge 
which  he  had  found  in  a  deadly  moment  he  could 
not  escape  from.  On  the  previous  occasion  the 
fuse  had  mercifully  failed  to  burn.  This  time 
when  he  collected  his  thoughts  the  colored  man 
was  smilingly  telling  him  for  the  second  time  that 
Miss  Brock  was  not  in. 


33 


CHAPTER    III 

INTO  THE    MOUNTAINS 

""\7"OU  put  me  in  an  awkward  position,"  mut- 
i       tered  Bucks,  looking  out  of  the  window. 
"But  it  is  grace  itself  compared  with  the  posi 
tion  I  should  be  in  now  among  the  Pittsburgers," 
objected  Glover,  shifting  his  legs  again. 

"If  you  won't  go,  I  must,  that's  all,"  continued 
the  general  manager.  "I  can't  send  Tom,  Dick, 
or  Harry  with  these  people,  Ab.  Gentlemen  must 
be  entertained  as  such.  On  the  hunting  do  the 
best  you  can;  they  want  chiefly  to  see  the  country 
and  I  can't  have  them  put  through  it  on  a  tourist 
basis.  I  want  them  to  see  things  globe-trotters 
don't  see  and  can't  see  without  someone  like  you 
You  ought  to  do  that  much  for  our  President — 
Henry  S.  Brock  is  not  only  a  national  man,  and 
a  big  one  in  the  new  railroad  game,  but  besides 
being  the  owner  of  this  whole  system  he  is  my  best 
friend.  We  sat  at  telegraph  keys  together  a  long 
time  before  he  was  rated  at  sixty  million  dollars. 
I  care  nothing  for  the  party  except  that  it  includes 

34 


Into  the  Mountains 

his  own  family  and  is  made  up  of  his  friends  and 
associates  and  he  looks  to  me  here  as  I  should  look 
to  him  in  the  East  were  circumstances  reversed." 

Bucks  paused.  Glover  stared  a  moment.  "If 
you  put  it  in  that  way  let  us  drop  it,"  said  he  at 
last.  "I  will  go." 

"The  blunder  was  not  a  life  and  death  matter. 
In  the  mountains  where  we  don't  see  one  woman 
a  year  it  might  happen  that  any  man  expecting  one 
young  lady  should  mistake  another  for  her.  Miss 
Brock  is  full  of  mischief,  and  the  temptation  to 
her  to  let  you  deceive  yourself  was  too  great,  that's 
all.  If  I  could  go  without  sacrificing  the  interests 
of  all  of  us  in  the  reorganization  I  shouldn't  ask 
you  to  go." 

"Let  it  pass." 

The  day  had  been  planned  for  the  little  recep 
tion  to  the  visitors.  The  arrival  of  two  more 
private  cars  had  added  the  directors,  the  hunting 
party  and  more  women  to  the  company.  The 
women  were  to  drive  during  the  day,  and  the  men 
had  arranged  to  inspect  the  roundhouse,  the  shops, 
and  the  division  terminals  and  to  meet  the  heads 
of  the  operating  department. 

In  the  evening  the  railroad  men  were  to  call  on 
their  guests  at  the  train.  This  was  what  Glover 
had  hoped  he  should  escape  until  Bucks  arriving 
in  the  morning  asked  him  not  only  to  attend  the 

35 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

reception  but  to  pilot  Mr.  Brock's  own  party 
through  a  long  mountain  trip.  To  consent  to  the 
former  request  after  agreeing  to  the  latter  was  of 
slight  consequence. 

In  the  evening  the  special  train  twinkling  across 
the  yard  looked  as  pretty  as  a  dream.  The  luxury 
of  the  appointments,  subdued  by  softened  lights, 
and  the  simple  hospitality  of  the  Pittsburgers — 
those  people  who  understand  so  well  how  to  charm 
and  how  to  repel — was  a  new  note  to  the  mountain 
men.  If  self-consciousness  was  felt  by  the  least 
of  them  at  the  door  it  could  hardly  pass  Mr. 
Brock  within;  his  cordiality  was  genuine. 

Following  Bucks  came  some  of  his  mountain 
staff,  whom  he  introduced  to  the  men  whose  in 
terests  they  now  represented.  Morris  Blood,  the 
superintendent,  was  among  those  he  brought  for 
ward,  and  he  presented  him  as  a  young  railroad 
man  and  a  rising  one.  Glover  followed  because  he 
was  never  very  far  from  the  mountain  superin 
tendent  and  the  general  manager  when  the  two 
were  in  sight. 

For  Glover  there  was  an  uncomfortable  moment 
in  prospect,  and  it  came  almost  at  once.  Mr. 
Brock,  in  meeting  him  as  the  chief  of  construction 
who  was  to  take  the  party  on  the  mountain  trip, 
left  his  place  and  took  him  with  Blood  black  to 
his  own  car  to  be  introduced  to  his  sister,  Mrs, 

36 


Into  the  Mountains 

Whitney.  The  younger  Miss  Brock,  Marie,  the 
invalid,  a  sweet-faced  girl,  rose  to  meet  the  two 
men.  Mrs.  Whitney  introduced  them  to  Miss 
Donner.  At  the  table  Gertrude  Brock  was  watch 
ing  a  waiter  from  the  dining-car  who  was  placing 
a  coffee  urn. 

She  turned  to  meet  the  young  men  that  were 
coming  forward  with  her  father,  and  Glover 
thought  the  awful  moment  was  upon  him;  yet  it 
happened  that  he  was  never  to  be  introduced  to 
Gertrude  Brock. 

Marie  was  already  engaging  him  where  he 
stood  with  gentle  questions,  and  to  catch  them  he 
had  to  bend  above  her.  When  the  waiter  went 
away,  Morris  Blood  was  helping  Gertrude  Brock 
to  complete  her  arrangements.  Others  came  up; 
the  moment  passed.  But  Glover  was  conscious 
all  the  time  of  this  graceful  girl  who  was  so 
frankly  cordial  to  those  near  her  and  so  oblivious 
of  him. 

He  heard  her  laughing  voice  in  her  conversa 
tion  with  his  friends  and  noted  in  the  utterance  of 
her  sister  and  her  aunt  the  same  unusual  inflections 
that  he  had  first  heard  from  her  in  his  office.  To 
his  surprise  these  Eastern  women  were  very  easy 
to  talk  to.  They  asked  about  the  mountains,  and 
as  their  train  conductor  had  long  ago  hinted  when 
himself  apologizing  for  mountain  stories,  well 

37 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

told  but  told  at  second  hand — Glover  knew  the 
mountains. 

Discussing  afterward  the  man  that  was  to  plan 
the  summer  trip  for  them,  Louise  Donner  wished 
it  might  have  been  the  superintendent,  because  he 
was  a  Boston  Tech  man. 

"Oh,  but  I  think  Mr.  Glover  is  going  to  be  in 
teresting,"  declared  Mrs.  Whitney.  "He  drawls 
and  I  like  that  sort  of  men;  there's  always  some 
thing  more  to  what  they  say,  after  you  think 
they're  done,  don't  you  know?  He  drank  two 
cups  of  coffee,  didn't  he,  Gertrude?  Didn't  you 
like  him?" 

"The  tall  one?  I  didn't  notice;  he  is  amazingly 
homely,  isn't  he?" 

"Don't  abuse  him,  for  he  is  delightful,"  inter 
posed  Marie. 

"I  accused  him  right  soon  of  being  a  Southern 
er,"  Mrs.  Whitney  went  on.  "He  admitted  he 
was  a  Missourian.  When  I  confessed  I  liked  his 
drawl  he  told  me  I  ought  to  hear  his  brother,  a 
lawyer,  who  stutters.  Mr.  Glover  says  he  wins 
all  his  cases  through  sympathy.  He  stumbles 
along  until  everyone  is  absolutely  convinced  that 
the  poor  fellow  would  have  a  perfectly  splendid 
case  if  he  could  only  stammer  through  it;  then,  of 
course,  he  gets  the  verdict." 

The  party  had  not  completed  the  first  day 
33 


Into  the  Mountains 

out  of  Medicine  Bend  under  Glover's  care  be 
fore  they  realized  that  Mrs.  Whitney  was  right- 
Glover  could  talk  and  he  could  listen.  With  the 
men  it  was  mining  or  railroading  or  shooting.  If 
things  lagged  with  the  ladies  he  had  landmarks  or 
scenery  or  early-day  stories.  With  Mrs.  Whitney 
he  could  in  extremity  discuss  St.  Louis.  Marie 
Brock  he  could  please  by  placing  her  in  marvellous 
spots  for  sketching.  As  for  Gertrude  and  Louise 
Donner  the  men  of  their  own  party  left  them  no 
dull  moments. 

The  first  week  took  the  party  north  into  the 
park  country.  Two  days  of  the  time,  on  horses, 
partly,  put  everyone  in  love  with  the  Rockies. 
On  Saturday  they  reached  the  main  line  again,  and 
at  Sleepy  Cat,  Superintendent  Blood  joined  the 
party  for  the  desert  run  to  the  Heart  Mountains. 
Glover  already  felt  the  fatigue  of  the  unusual 
week,  nor  could  any  ingenuity  make  the  desert  in 
teresting  to  strenuous  people.  Its  beauties  are 
contemplative  rather  than  pungent,  and  the  travel 
lers  were  frankly  advised  to  fall  back  on  books  and 
ping-pong.  Crawling  across  an  interminable 
alkali  basin  in  the  late  afternoon  their  train  was 
laid  out  a  long  time  by  a  freight  wreck. 

Weary  of  the  car,  Gertrude  Brock,  after  the  sun 
had  declined,  was  walking  alone  down  the  track 
when  Glover  came  in  sight.  She  started  for  the 

39 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

train,  but  Glover  easily  overtook  her.  Since  he  had 
joined  the  party  they  had  not  exchanged  one  word. 

"I  wonder  whether  you  have  ever  seen  anything 
like  these,  Miss  Brock?"  he  asked,  coming  up  to 
her.  She  turned;  he  had  a  handful  of  small,  long- 
stemmed  flowers  of  an  exquisite  blue. 

"How  beautiful!"  she  exclaimed,  moved  by 
surprise.  "What  are  they?" 

"Desert  flowers." 

"Such  a  blue." 

"You  expressed  a  regret  this  morning " 

"Oh,  you  heard " 

"I  overheard " 

"What  are  they  called?" 

"I  haven't  an  idea.  But  once  in  the  Sioux 
country — "  They  were  at  the  car-step.  "Marie? 
See  here,"  she  called  to  her  sister  within. 

"Won't  you  take  them?"  asked  Glover. 

"No,  no.     I " 

"With  an  apology  for  my " 


'Marie,  dear,  do  look  here- 


" — Stupidity  the  other  day?" 

"How  shall  I  ever  reach  that  step?"  she  ex 
claimed,  breaking  in  upon  her  own  words  and  ob 
stinately  buffeting  his  own  as  she  gazed  with  more 
than  necessary  dismay  at  the  high  vestibule  tread. 

"Would  you  hold  the  flowers  a  moment — "  he 
asked — her  sister  appeared  at  the  door — "so  I 

40 


"  1  wonder  whether  you  have  ever  seen  anything  like  these, 
Miss  Brock?"    he  asked. 


Into  the  Mountains 

may  help  you?"  continued  the  patient  railroad 
man. 

"See,  Marie,  these  dear  flowers!"  Marie 
clapped  her  hands  as  she  ran  forward.  He  held 
the  flowers  up.  "Are  they  for  me?"  she  cried. 

"Will  you  take  them?"  he  asked,  as  she  bent 
over  the  guard-rail.  "Oh,  gladly."  He  turned 
instantly,  but  Gertrude  had  gained  the  step. 
"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  exclaimed  Marie. 
"What  is  their  name,  Mr.  Glover?" 

"I  don't  know  any  name  for  them  except  an 
Indian  name.  The  Sioux,  up  in  their  country,  call 
them  sky-eyes." 

"Sky-eyes!     Isn't  that  dear?  sky-eyes." 

"You  are  heated,"  continued  Marie,  looking  at 
him,  "you  have  walked  a  long  way.  Where  in 
all  this  desolate,  desolate  country  could  you  find 
flowers  such  as  these?" 

"Back  a  little  way  in  a  canon." 

"Are  there  many  in  a  desert  like  this?" 

"I  know  of  none — at  least  within  many  miles — 
yet  there  may  be  others  in  nearby  hiding-places. 
The  desert  is  full  of  surprises." 

"You  are  so  warm,  are  you  not  coming  up  to  sit 
down  while  I  get  a  bowl?" 

"I  will  go  forward,  thank  you,  and  see  when 
we  are  to  get  away.  Your  sister,"  he  added,  look 
ing  evenly  at  Marie  as  Gertrude  stood  beside  her, 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"asked  this  morning  why  there  were  no  flowers  in 
this  country,  and  while  we  were  delayed  I  hap 
pened  to  recollect  that  canon  and  the  sky-eyes." 

"I  think  your  stupid  man  the  most  interesting 
we  have  met  since  we  left  home,  Gertrude,"  re 
marked  Marie  at  her  embroidery  after  dinner. 

"I  told  you  he  would  be,"  said  Mrs.  Whitney, 
suppressing  a  yawn.  Gertrude  was  playing  ping- 
pong  with  Doctor  Lanning.  "But  isn't  he  home 
ly?"  she  exclaimed,  sending  a  cut  ball  into  the 
doctor's  watch-chain. 

Louise  returned  soon  with  Allen  Harrison  from 
the  forward  car. 

"The  programme  for  the  evening  is  arranged," 
she  announced,  "and  it's  fine.  We  are  to  have  a 
big  campfire  over  near  that  butte — right  out  under 
the  stars.  And  Mr.  Blood  is  going  to  tell  a  story, 
and  while  he's  telling  it,  Mr.  Glover — oh,  drop 
your  ping-pong,  won't  you,  and  listen — has  prom 
ised  to  make  taffy  and  we  are  to  pull  it — won't 
that  be  jolly?  and  then  the  coyotes  are  to  howl." 

A  little  later  all  left  the  car  together.  Above 
the  copper  edge  of  the  desert  ranges  the  moon 
was  rising  full  and  it  brought  the  nearer  buttes 
up  across  the  stretches  of  the  night  like  sentinels. 
In  the  sky  a  multitude  of  stars  trembled,  and  wind 
springing  from  the  south  fanned  the  fire  growing 
on  the  plateau  just  off  the  right  of  way. 

42 


Into  the  Mountains 

The  party  disposed  themselves  in  camp-chairs 
and  on  ties  about  the  big  fire.  Near  at  hand, 
Glover,  who  already  had  a  friend  in  Clem,  the 
cook,  was  feeding  chips  into  a  little  blaze  under 
a  kettle  slung  with  his  taffy  mixture,  which  the 
women  in  turn  inspected,  asked  questions  about, 
and  commented  sceptically  upon. 

Doctor  Lanning  brought  his  banjo,  and  when 
the  party  had  settled  low  about  the  fire  it  helped 
to  keep  alive  the  talk.  Every  few  minutes  the 
taffy  and  the  coyotes  were  demanded  in  turn,  and 
Glover  was  kept  busy  apologizing  for  the  absence 
of  the  wolves  and  the  slowness  of  his  kettle,  under 
which  he  fed  the  small  chips  regularly. 

As  the  night  air  grew  sharper  more  wraps  were 
called  for.  When  Doctor  Lanning  and  Mrs. 
Whitney  started  after  them  they  asked  Gertrude 
what  they  should  bring  her,  but  she  said  she  needed 
nothing. 

As  she  sat,  she  could  see  Glover,  her  sister 
Marie  on  a  stool  beside  him,  watching  the  boiling 
taffy.  With  one  foot  doubled  under  him  for  a 
seat,  and  an  elbow  supported  on  his  knee  he 
steadied  himself  like  a  camp  cook  behind  his 
modest  fire;  but  even  as  he  crouched  the  blaze 
threw  him  up  astonishingly  tall.  Heedless  of  the 
chatter  around  the  big  fire  the  man  whose  business 
was  to  bridle  rivers,  fight  snowslides,  raze  granite 

43 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

hills,  and  dispute  for  their  dizzy  passes  with  the 
bighorn  and  the  bear,  bent  patiently  above  his  pot 
of  molasses,  a  coaxing  stick  in  one  hand  and  a 
careful  chip  in  the  other. 

"Where,  pray,  Mr. Glover,  did  you  learn  that?" 
demanded  Marie  Brock.  He  had  been  explaining 
the  chemical  changes  that  follow  each  stage  of  the 
boiling  in  sugar.  "I  learned  the  taffy  business 
from  the  old  negro  mammy  that  'raised'  me 
down  on  the  Mississippi,  Aunt  Chloe.  She  taught 
me  everything  I  know — except  mathematics — and 
mathematics  I  don't  know  anyway."  Mrs.  Whit 
ney  was  distributing  the  wraps.  UI  would 
have  brought  your  Newmarket  if  I  could  have 
found  it,  Gertrude." 

"Her  Newmarket!"  exclaimed  Allen  Harrison. 
"Gertrude  hasn't  told  the  Newmarket  story,  eh? 
She  threw  it  over  a  tramp  asleep  in  the  rain  down 
at  the  Spider  Water  bridge." 

"What?" 

" — And  was  going  to  disown  me  because  I 
wouldn't  give  up  my  overcoat  for  a  tarpaulin." 

"Gertrude  Brock!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Whitney. 
"Your  Newmarket!  Then  you  deserve  to 
freeze,"  she  declared,  settling  under  her  fur  cape. 
"What  will  she  do  next?  Now,  Mr.  Blood,  we 
are  all  here;  what  about  that  story?" 

Morris  Blood  turned.     Glover,   Marie  Brock 

44 


Into  the  Mountains 

watching,  tested  the  foaming  candy.  Doctor 
Lanning,  on  a  cushion,  strummed  his  banjo. 

In  front  of  Gertrude,  Harrison,  inhaling  a 
cigarette,  stretched  before  the  fire.  Declining  a 
stool,  Gertrude  was  sitting  on  a  chair  of  ties.  One, 
projecting  at  her  side,  made  a  rest  for  her  elbow 
and  she  reclined  her  head  upon  her  hand  as  she 
watched  the  flames  leap. 

"The  incident  Miss  Donner  asked  about  oc 
curred  when  I  was  despatching,"  began  the  super 
intendent. 

"Oh,  are  you  a  despatcher,  too?"  asked  Louise, 
clasping  her  hands  upon  her  knee  as  she  leaned 
forward. 

"They  would  hardly  trust  me  with  a  train-sheet 
now;  this  was  some  time  ago." 


45 


CHAPTER    IV 

AS     THE     DESPATCHER     SAW 

"TF  you  can  recollect  the  blizzard  that  Roscoe 
JL  Conkling  went  down  in  one  March  day  in 
the  streets  of  New  York,  it  will  give  you  the  date; 
possibly  call  to  your  mind  the  storm.  I  had  the 
River  Division  then,  and  we  got  through  the 
whole  winter  without  a  single  tie-up  of  conse 
quence  until  March. 

"The  morning  was  still  as  June.  When  the  sky 
went  heavy  at  noon  it  looked  more  like  a  spring 
shower  than  a  snow-storm;  only,  I  noticed  over 
at  the  government  building  they  were  flying  a 
black  flag  splashed  with  a  red  centre.  I  had  not 
seen  it  before  for  years,  and  I  asked  for  ploughs  on 
every  train  out  after  two  o'clock. 

"Even  then  there  was  no  wickedness  abroad;  it 
was  coming  fairly  heavy  in  big  flakes,  but  lying 
quiet  as  apple-blossoms.  Toward  four  o'clock  I 
left  the  office  for  the  roundhouse,  and  got  just 
about  half-way  across  the  yard  when  the  wind 
veered  like  a  scared  semaphore.  I  had  left  the 

46 


As  the  Despatcher  Saw 

depot  in  a  snow-storm;  I  reached  the  roundhouse 
in  a  blizzard. 

"There  was  no  time  to  wait  to  get  back  to  the 
keys.  I  telephoned  orders  over  from  the  house,  and 
the  boys  burned  the  wires,  east  and  west,  with 
warnings.  When  the  wind  went  into  the  north 
that  day  at  four  o'clock,  it  was  murder  pure  and 
simple,  with  the  snow  sweeping  the  flat  like  a 
shroud  and  the  thermometer  water-logged  at  zero. 

"All  night  it  blew,  with  never  a  minute's  let-up. 
By  ten  o'clock  half  our  wires  were  down,  trains 
were  failing  all  over  the  division,  and  before  mid 
night  every  plough  on  the  line  was  bucking  snow — 
and  the  snow  was  coming  harder.  We  had  given 
up  all  idea  of  moving  freight,  and  were  centring 
everything  on  the  passenger  trains,  when  a  mes 
sage  came  from  Beverly  that  the  fast  mail  was  off 
track  in  the  cut  below  the  hill,  and  I  ordered  out 
the  wrecking  gang  and  a  plough  battery  for  the  run 
down. 

"It  was  a  fearful  night  to  make  up  a  train  in  a 
hurry — as  much  as  a  man's  life  was  worth  to  work 
even  slow  in  the  yard  a  night  like  that.  But  what 
limit  is  set  to  a  switchman's  courage  I  have  never 
known,  because  I've  never  known  one  to  balk  at 
a  yardmaster's  order. 

"I  went  to  work  clearing  the  line,  and  forgot  all 
about  everything  outside  the  train-sheet  till  a  car- 

47 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

tink  came  running  in  with  word  that  a  man  was 
hurt  in  the  yard. 

"Some  men  get  used  to  it;  I  never  do.  As  much 
as  I  have  seen  of  railroad  life,  the  word  that  a 
man's  hurt  always  hits  me  in  the  same  place. 
Slipping  into  an  ulster,  I  pulled  a  storm-cap  over 
my  ears  and  hurried  down  stairs  buttoning  my 
coat.  The  arc-lights,  blinded  in  the  storm,  swung 
wild  across  the  long  yard,  and  the  wind  sung  with 
a  scream  through  the  telegraph  wires.  Stumbling 
ahead,  the  big  car-tink,  facing  the  storm,  led  me 
to  where  between  the  red  and  the  green  lamps  a 
dozen  men  hovered  close  to  the  gangway  of  a 
switch  engine.  The  man  hurt  lay  under  the  for 
ward  truck  of  the  tender. 

"They  had  just  got  the  wrecking  train  made  up, 
and  this  man,  running  forward  after  setting  a 
switch,  had  flipped  the  tender  of  the  backing  en 
gine  and  slipped  from  the  footboard.  When  I 
bent  over  him,  I  saw  he  was  against  it.  He  knew 
it,  too,  for  the  minute  they  shut  off  and  got  to  him 
he  kept  perfectly  still,  asking  only  for  a  priest. 

"I  tried  every  way  I  could  think  of  to  get  him 
free  from  the  wheels.  Two  of  us  crawled  under 
the  tender  to  try  to  figure  it  out.  But  he  lay  so 
jammed  between  the  front  wheel  and  the  hind 
one,  and  tender  trucks  are  so  small  and  the  wheels 
so  close  together  that  to  save  our  lives  we  could 

48 


As  the  Despatcher  Saw 

neither  pull  ahead  nor  back  the  engine  without 
further  mutilating  him. 

"As  I  talked  to  him  I  took  his  hand  and  tried  to 
explain  that  to  free  him  we  should  have  to  jack  up 
the  truck.  He  heard,  he  understood,  but  his  eyes, 
glittering  like  the  eyes  of  a  wounded  animal  with 
shock,  wandered  uneasily  while  I  spoke,  and  when 
I  had  done,  he  closed  them  to  grapple  with  the 
pain.  Presently  a  hand  touched  my  shoulder;  the 
priest  had  come,  and  throwing  open  his  coat  knelt 
beside  us.  He  was  a  spare  old  man — none  too 
good  a  subject  himself,  I  thought,  for  much  ex 
posure  like  that — but  he  did  not  seem  to  mind. 
He  dropped  on  his  knees  and,  with  both  hands  in 
the  snow,  put  his  head  in  behind  the  wheel  close 
to  the  man's  face.  What  they  said  to  each  other 
lasted  only  a  moment,  and  all  the  while  the  boys 
were  keying  like  madmen  at  the  jacks  to  ease  the 
wheel  that  had  crushed  the  switchman's  thigh. 
When  they  got  the  truck  partly  free,  they  lifted 
the  injured  man  back  a  little  where  we  could  all 
see  his  face.  They  were  ready  to  do  more,  but 
the  priest,  wiping  the  water  and  snow  from  the 
failing  man's  lips  and  forehead,  put  up  his  fingers 
to  check  them. 

"The  wind,  howling  around  the  freight-cars 
strung  about  us,  sucked  the  guarded  lantern  flames 
up  into  blue  and  green  flickers  in  the  globes;  they 

49 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

lighted  the  priest's  face  as  he  took  off  his  hat  and 
laid  it  beside  him,  and  lighted  the  switchman's 
eyes  looking  steadily  up  from  the  rail.  The  snow, 
curling  and  eddying  across  the  little  blaze  of 
lamps,  whitened  everything  alike,  tender  and 
wheel  and  rail,  the  jackscrews,  the  bars,  and  the 
shoulders  and  caps  of  the  men.  The  priest  bent 
forward  again  and  touched  the  lips  and  the  fore 
head  of  the  switchman  with  his  thumb:  then 
straightening  on  his  knees  he  paused  a  moment, 
his  eyes  lifted  up,  raised  his  hand  and  slowly  sign 
ing  through  the  blinding  flakes  the  form  of  the 
cross,  gave  him  the  sacrament  of  the  dying. 

"I  have  forgotten  the  man's  name.  I  have  never 
seen  the  old  priest,  before  or  since.  But,  some 
time,  a  painter  will  turn  to  the  railroad  life. 
When  he  does,  I  may  see  from  his  hand  such  a 
picture  as  I  saw  at  that  moment — the  night,  the 
storm,  the  scant  hair  of  the  priest  blown  in  the 
gale,  the  men  bared  about  him;  the  hush  of  the 
death  moment;  the  wrinkled  hand  raised  in  the  last 
benediction." 


CHAPTER   V 

AN     EMERGENCY     CALL 

IN  the  morning  the  Brock  special  bathed  in  sun 
shine  lay  in  the  Bear  Dance  yard.  When  it 
was  learned  at  breakfast  that  during  the  night 
Morris  Blood  had  disappeared  there  was  a  pro 
test.  He  had  taken  a  train  east,  Glover  told  them. 

"But  you  should  not  have  let  him  run  away," 
objected  Marie  Brock,  "we've  barely  made  his 
acquaintance.  I  was  going  to  ask  him  ever  so 
many  questions  about  mines  this  morning.  Tell 
him,  Mr.  Glover,  when  you  telegraph,  that  he  has 
had  a  peremptory  recall,  will  you  ?  We  want  him 
for  dinner  to-morrow  night;  papa  and  Mr.  Bucks 
are  to  join  us,  you  know." 

Mr.  Brock  arrived  the  following  evening  but 
the  general  manager  failed  them,  and  it  was  long 
after  hope  of  Morris  Blood  had  been  given  up 
that  Glover  brought  him  in  with  apologies  for  his 
late  arrival. 

The  two  cars  were  sidetracked  at  Cascade,  the 
heart  of  the  sightseeing  country,  and  Glover  had 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

a  trip  laid  out  for  the  early  morning  on  horses 
up  Cabin  Creek. 

When  he  sat  down  to  explain  to  Marie  where 
he  meant  to  take  the  party  the  following  day  Ger 
trude  Brock  had  a  book  under  the  banquet  lamp 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  car.  The  doctor  and  Har 
rison  with  Mrs.  Whitney  were  gathered  about 
Louise,  who  among  the  couch  pillows  was  reading 
hands.  As  Morris  Blood,  after  some  talk  with 
Mr.  Brock,  approached,  Louise  nodded  to  him. 
"We  shall  take  no  apologies  for  spoiling  our  din 
ner  party,"  said  she,  "but  you  may  sit  down.  I 
haven't  been  able,  Mr.  Blood,  to  get  your  story 
out  of  my  head  since  you  told  it:  none  of  us  have. 
Do  you  believe  in  palmistry?  Now,  Mr.  Harrison, 
do  sit  still  till  I  finish  your  hand.  Oh,  here's 
another  engagement  in  it!  Why,  Allen  Harri 
son!" 

"How  many  is  that?"  asked  Gertrude,  looking 
over. 

"Three;  and  here  is  further  excitement  for  you, 
Mr.  Harrison " 

"How  soon?"  demanded  Allen. 

"Very  soon,  I  should  think;  just  as  soon  as  you 
get  home." 

"Well  timed,"  said  Marie;  she  and  Glover  had 
come  up.  "I  think  that's  all,  this  time,"  con 
cluded  Louise,  studying  the  lines  carefully.  "Go 

52 


An  Emergency   Call 

slow  on  mining  for  one  year,  remember."  She 
looked  at  Morris  Blood.  "Am  I  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  reading  your  hand?" 

"There  isn't  a  bit  of  excitement  in  my  hand, 
Miss  Donner,  no  fortunes,  no  adventures,  no  en 
gagements ' ' 

"You  mean  in  your  life.  Very  good;  that's  just 
the  sort  of  hand  I  love  to  read.  The  excitement 
is  all  ahead.  Really  I  should  like  to  read  your 
hand." 

"If  you  insist,"  he  said,  putting  out  his  left 
hand. 

"Your  right,  please,"  smiled  Louise. 

"I  have  no  right,"  he  answered.  She  looked 
mystified,  but  held  out  her  hand  smilingly  for  his 
right. 

"I  have  no  right  hand,"  he  repeated,  smiling, 
too. 

None  had  observed  before  that  the  superintend 
ent  never  offered  his  hand  in  greeting.  A  con 
scious  instant  fell  on  the  group.  It  was  barely 
an  instant,  for  Glover,  who  heard,  turned  at  once 
from  an  answer  to  Marie  Brock  and  laying  a  hand 
on  his  companion's  shoulder  spoke  easily  to 
Louise.  "He  gave  his  right  hand  for  me  once, 
Miss  Donner,  that's  the  reason  he  has  none.  May 
I  offer  mine  for  him?" 

He  put  out  his  own  right  hand  as  he  asked,  and 
53 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

his  lightly  serious  words  bridged  the  momentary 
embarrassment. 

"Oh,  I  can  read  either  hand,"  laughed  Louise, 
recovering  and  putting  Glover's  hand  aside.  "Let 
me  have  your  left,  Mr.  Blood — your  turn  pres 
ently,  Mr.  Glover.  Be  seated.  Now  this  is  the 
sort  of  hand  I  like,"  she  declared,  leaning  forward 
as  she  looked  into  the  left — "full  of  romance,  Mr. 
Blood.  Here  is  an  affair  of  the  heart  the  very 
first  thing.  Now  don't  laugh,  this  is  serious." 
She  studied  the  palm  a  moment  and  glanced  mis 
chievously  around  her.  "If  I  were  to  disclose  all 
the  delicate  romances  I  find  here,"  she  declared 
with  an  air  of  mystery,  "they  would  laugh  at  both 
of  us.  I'm  not  going  to  give  them  a  chance.  I 
give  private  readings,  too,  Mr.  Blood,  and  you 
shall  have  a  private  reading  at  the  other  end  of 
the  car  after  a  while.  Now  is  there  another 
'party'?  Oh,  to  be  sure;  come,  Mr.  Glover,  are 
all  railroad  men  romantic?  This  is  growing  in 
teresting — let  me  see  your  palm.  Oh!" 

"Now  what  have  I  done?"  asked  Glover  as 
Louise,  studying  his  palm,  started.  "I  have 
changed  my  name — I  admit  that;  but  I  have  al 
ways  denied  killing  anyone  in  the  States.  Are 
you  going  to  tell  the  real  facts?  Won't  someone 
lend  me  a  hand  for  a  few  minutes?  Or  may  I 
withdraw  this  entry  before  exposure?" 

54 


An  Emergency   Call 

"Mr.  Glover!  of  all  the  hands!  I'm  not  sur 
prised  you  were  chosen  to  show  the  sights. 
There's  something  happening  in  your  hand  every 
few  minutes.  Adventures,  heart  affairs,  fortunes, 
perils — such  a  life-line,  Mr.  Glover.  On  my  word 
there  you  are  hanging  by  a  hair — a  hair — on  the 
verge  of  eternity " 

Glover  laughed  softly. 

"Oh,  come,  Louise,"  protested  Mrs.  Whitney. 
"Touch  on  lighter  lines,  please." 

"Lighter  lines!  Why,  Mr.  Glover's  heart-line 
is  a  perfect  canon."  The  laughter  did  not  daunt 
her.  "A  perfect  canon.  I've  read  about  hands 
like  this,  but  I  never  saw  one.  No  more  to-night, 
Mr.  Glover,  you  are  too  exciting." 

"But  about  hanging  on  the  verge — has  it  any 
thing  to  do  with  a  lynching,  do  you  think,  Miss 
Donner?"  asked  Glover.  "The  hair  rope  might 
be  a  lariat— 

"Mr.  Glover!" — the  train  conductor  opened  the 
car  door.  "Is  Mr.  Glover  in  this  car?" 

"Yes." 

"A  message." 

"May  I  be  excused  for  a  moment?"  said 
Glover,  rising. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  exclaimed  Louise,  "a 
telegram !  Something  has  happened  already." 


55 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE     CAT     AND     THE     RAT 

AT  five  o'clock  that  evening,  snow  was  falling 
at  Medicine  Bend,  but  Callahan,  as  he 
studied  the  weather  bulletins,  found  consolation 
in  the  fact  that  it  was  not  raining,  and  resting  his 
heels  on  a  table  littered  with  train-sheets  he  forced 
the  draft  on  a  shabby  brier  and  meditated. 

There  were  times  when  snow  had  been  received 
with  strong  words  at  the  Wickiup:  but  when 
summer  fairly  opened  Callahan  preferred  snow 
to  rain  as  strongly  as  he  preferred  genuine  Lone 
Jack  to  the  spurious  compounds  that  flooded  the 
Western  market. 

The  chief  element  of  speculation  in  his  evening 
reflections  was  as  to  what  was  going  on  west  of 
the  range,  for  Callahan  knew  through  cloudy  ex 
perience  that  what  happens  on  one  side  of  a  moun 
tain  chain  is  no  evidence  as  to  what  is  doing  on  the 
other — and  by  species  of  warm  weather  depravity 
that  night  something  was  happening  west  of  the 
range. 

"It  is  curious,"  mused  Callahan,  as  Morrison, 
56 


The  Cat  and  the  Rat 

the  head  operator,  handed  him  some  McCloud 
messages — "curious,  that  we  get  nothing  from 
Sleepy  Cat." 

Sleepy  Cat,  it  should  be  explained,  is  a  new 
town  on  the  West  End;  not  only  that,  but  a  di 
vision  town,  and  though  one  may  know  something 
about  the  Mountain  Division  he  may  yet  be  puz 
zled  at  Callahan's  mention  of  Sleepy  Cat.  When 
gold  was  found  in  the  Pilot  range  and  camps  grew 
up  and  down  Devil's  Gap  like  mushrooms,  a 
branch  was  run  from  Sleepy  Cat  through  the  Pilot 
country,  and  the  tortoise-like  way  station  became 
at  once  a  place  of  importance.  It  takes  its  name 
from  the  neighboring  mountain  around  the  base 
of  which  winds  the  swift  Rat  River.  At  Sleepy 
Cat  town  the  main  line  leaves  the  Rat,  and  if  a 
tenderfoot  brakeman  ask  a  reservation  buck  why 
the  mountain  is  called  Sleepy  Cat  the  Indian  will 
answer,  always  the  same,  "It  lets  the  Rat  run 
away." 

"Now  it's  possible,"  suggested  Hughie  Morri 
son,  looking  vaguely  at  the  stove,  "that  the  wires 
are  down." 

"Nonsense,"  objected  Callahan. 

"It  is  raining  at  Soda  Sink,"  persisted  Morrison, 
mildly. 

"What?"  demanded  the  general  superintendent, 
pulling  his  pipe  from  his  mouth.  Hughie  Mor- 

57 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

rison  kept  cool.  His  straight,  black  hair  lay  boy 
ishly  smooth  across  his  brow.  There  was  no  guile 
in  his  expression  even  though  he  had  stunned 
Callahan,  which  was  precisely  what  he  had  in 
tended.  "It  is  raining  at  Soda  Sink,"  he  repeated. 

Now  there  is  no  day  in  the  mountains  that  goes 
back  of  the  awful  tradition  concerning  rain  at  Soda 
Sink.  Before  Tom  Porter,  first  manager;  before 
Brodie,  who  built  the  bridges;  before  Sikes,  longest 
in  the  cab;  before  Pat  Francis,  oldest  of  conduct 
ors,  runs  that  tradition  about  rain  at  the  Sink — • 
which  is  desert  absolute — where  it  never  does  rain 
and  never  should.  When  it  rains  at  Soda  Sink, 
this  say  the  Medicine  men,  the  Cat  will  fall  on 
the  Rat.  It  is  Indian  talk  as  old  as  the  foothills. 

Of  course  no  railroad  man  ever  gave  much  heed 
to  Indian  talk;  how,  for  instance,  could  a  mountain 
fall  on  a  river?  Yet  so  the  legend  ran,  and  there 
being  one  superstitious  man  on  the  force  at  Medi 
cine  Bend  one  man  remembered  it — Hughie  Mor 
rison. 

Callahan  studied  the  bulletin  to  which  the 
operator  called  his  attention  and  resumed  his  pipe 
sceptically,  but  he  did  make  a  suggestion.  "See  if 
you  can't  get  Sleepy  Cat,  Hughie,  and  find  out 
whether  that  is  so." 

Morris  Blood  was  away  with  the  Pittsburgers 
and  Callahan  had  foolishly  consented  to  look  after 

58 


The  Cat  and  the  Rat 

his  desk  for  a  few  days.  At  the  moment  that 
Morrison  took  hold  of  the  key  Giddings  opened 
the  door  from  the  despatchers'  room.  "Mr.  Cal- 
lahan,  there's  a  message  coming  from  Francis, 
conductor  of  Number  Two.  They've  had  a  cloud 
burst  on  Dry  Dollar  Creek,"  he  said,  excitedly; 
"twenty  feet  of  water  came  down  Rat  Canon  at 
five  o'clock.  The  track's  under  four  feet  in  the 
canon." 

As  a  pebble  striking  an  anthill  stirs  into  angry 
life  a  thousand  startled  workers,  so  a  mountain 
washout  startles  a  division  and  concentrates  upon 
a  single  point  the  very  last  reserve  of  its  activi 
ties  and  energies. 

For  thirty  minutes  the  wires  sung  with  Calla- 
han's  messages.  When  his  special  for  a  run  to  the 
Rat  Canon  was  ready  all  the  extra  yardmen  and 
both  roadmasters  were  in  the  caboose;  behind 
them  fumed  a  second  section  with  orders  to  pick 
up  along  the  way  every  section  man  as  they  fol 
lowed.  It  was  hard  on  eight  o'clock  when  Calla- 
han  stepped  aboard.  They  double-headed  for  the 
pass,  and  not  till  they  pulled  up  with  their  pony 
truck  facing  the  water  at  the  mouth  of  the  big 
canon  did  they  ease  their  pace. 

In  the  darkness  they  could  only  grope.  Smith 
Young,  roadmaster  of  the  Pilot  branch,  an  old 
mountain  boy,  had  gone  down  from  Sleepy  Cat 

59 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

before  dark,  and  crawling  over  the  rocks  in  the 
dusk  had  worked  his  way  along  the  canon  walls 
to  the  scene  of  the  disaster. 

Just  below  where  Dry  Dollar  Creek  breaks  into 
the  Rat  the  canon  is  choked  on  one  side  by  a 
granite  wall  two  hundred  feet  high.  On  the  other, 
a  sheer  spur  of  Sleepy  Cat  Mountain  is  thrust  out 
like  a  paw  against  the  river.  It  was  there  that  the 
wall  of  water  out  of  Dry  Dollar  had  struck  the 
track  and  scoured  it  to  the  bedrock.  Ties,  steel, 
ballast,  riprap,  roadbed,  were  gone,  and  where  the 
heavy  construction  had  run  below  the  paw  of 
Sleepy  Cat  the  river  was  churning  in  a  channel  ten 
feet  deep. 

The  best  news  Young  had  was  that  Agnew,  the 
division  engineer  who  happened  to  be  at  Sleepy 
Cat,  had  made  the  inspection  with  him  and  had 
already  returned  to  order  in  men  and  material  for 
daybreak. 

Leaving  the  roadmasters  to  care  for  their  in 
coming  forces,  Callahan,  with  Smith  Young's  men 
for  guides,  took  the  footpath  on  the  south  side  to 
the  head  of  the  canon,  where,  above  the  break,  an 
engine  was  waiting  to  run  him  to  Sleepy  Cat. 
When  he  reached  the  station  Agnew  was  up  at  the 
material  yard,  and  Callahan  sat  down  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  to  take  reports  on  train  movements.  The 
despatchers  were  annulling,  holding  the  freights 

60 


The  Cat  and  the  Rat 

and  distributing  passenger  trains  at  eating  stations. 
But  an  hour's  work  at  the  head-breaking  problem 
left  the  division,  Callahan  thought,  in  worse  shape 
than  when  the  planning  began,  and  he  got  up  from 
the  keg  in  a  mental  whirl  when  Duffy  at  Medicine 
Bend  sent  a  body  blow  in  a  long  message  supple 
mentary  to  his  first  report. 

"Bear  Dance  reports  the  fruit  extras  making  a 
very  fast  run.  First  train  of  eighteen  cars  has 
just  pulled  in:  there  are  seven  more  of  these  fruit 
extras  following  close,  should  arrive  at  Sleepy  Cat 
at  four  A.M." 

Callahan  turned  from  the  message  with  his 
hand  in  his  hair.  Of  all  bad  luck  this  was  the 
worst.  The  California  fruit  trains,  not  due  for 
twenty-four  hours,  coming  in  a  day  ahead  of  time 
with  the  Mountain  Division  tied  up  by  the  worst 
washout  it  had  ever  seen.  In  a  heat  he  walked 
out  of  the  operators'  office  to  find  Agnew;  the  two 
men  met  near  the  water  tank. 

"Hello,  Agnew.  This  puts  us  against  it, 
doesn't  it?  How  soon  can  you  give  us  a  track?" 
asked  Callahan,  feverishly. 

Agnew  was  the  only  man  on  the  division  that 
was  always  calm.  He  was  thorough,  practical, 
and  after  he  had  cut  his  mountain  teeth  in  the 
Peace  River  disaster,  a  hardheaded  man  at  his 
work. 

61 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"It  will  take  forty-eight  hours  after  I  get  my 
material  here " 

"Forty-eight  hours !"  echoed  Callahan.  "Why. 
man,  we  shall  have  eight  trains  of  California  fruit 
here  by  four  o'clock." 

"I'm  on  my  way  to  order  in  the  filling,  now," 
said  Agnew,  "and  I  shall  push  things  to  the  limit, 
Mr.  Callahan." 

"Limit,  yes,  your  limit — but  what  about  my 
limit?  Forty-eight  hours'  delay  will  put  every 
car  of  that  fruit  into  market  rotten.  I've  got 
to  have  some  kind  of  a  track  through  there — any 
kind  on  earth  will  do — but  I've  got  to  have  it  by 
to-morrow  night." 

"To-morrow  night?" 

"To-morrow  night." 

Agnew  looked  at  him  as  a  sympathizing  man 
looks  at  a  lunatic,  and  calmly  shook  his  head.  "I 
can't  get  rock  here  till  to-morrow  morning. 
What  is  the  use  talking  impossibilities?" 

Callahan  ground  his  heel  in  the  ballast.  Agnew 
only  asked  him  if  he  realized  what  a  hole  there 
was  to  fill.  "It's  no  use  dumping  gravel  in  there," 
he  explained  patiently,  "the  river  will  carry  it  out 
faster  than  flat  cars  can  carry  it  in." 

Callahan  waved  his  hand.  "I've  got  to  have 
track  there  by  to-morrow  night." 

"I've  got  to  dump  a  hundred  cars  of  rock  in 
62 


The  Cat  and  the  Rat 

there  before  we  shall  have  anything  to  lay  track 
on;  and  I've  got  to  pick  the  rock  up  all  the  way 
from  here  to  Goose  River." 

They  walked  together  to  the  station. 

When  the  night  grew  too  dark  for  Callahan 
he  had  but  one  higher  thought — Bucks.  Bucks 
was  five  hundred  miles  away  at  McCloud,  but  he 
already  had  the  particulars  and  was  waiting  at  a 
key  ready  to  take  up  the  trouble  of  his  favorite 
division.  Callahan  at  the  wire  in  Sleepy  Cat  told 
his  story,  and  Bucks  at  the  other  end  listened  and 
asked  questions.  He  listened  to  every  detail  of 
the  disaster,  to  the  cold  hard  figures  of  Agnew's 
estimates — which  nothing  could  alter,  jot  or  tittle 
— and  to  Callahan's  despairing  question  as  to  how 
he  could  possibly  save  the  unlooked-for  avalanche 
of  fruit. 

For  some  time  after  the  returns  were  in,  Bucks 
was  silent;  silent  so  long  that  the  copper-haired 
man  twisted  in  his  chair,  looked  vacantly  around 
the  office  and  chewed  a  cigar  into  strings.  Then 
the  sounder  at  his  hand  clicked.  He  recognized 
Bucks  sending  in  the  three  words  lightly  spelled 
on  his  ear  and  jumped  from  his  seat.  Just  three 
words  Bucks  had  sent  and  signed  off.  What  gal 
vanized  Callahan  was  that  the  words  were  so  sim 
ple,  so  all-covering,  and  so  easy.  "Why  didn't  / 
think  of  that?"  groaned  Callahan,  mentally. 

63 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

Then  he  reflected  that  he  was  nothing  but  a 
redheaded  Irishman,  anyway,  while  Bucks  was  a 
genius.  It  never  showed  more  clearly,  Callahan 
thought,  than  when  he  received  the  three  words, 
"Send  for  Glover." 


CHAPTER    VII 

TIME     BEING    MONEY 

SLEEPY  CAT  town  was  but  just  rubbing  its 
eyes  next  morning  when  the  Brock  train 
pulled  in  from  Cascade.  Clouds  rolling  loosely 
across  the  mountains  were  pushing  the  night  into 
the  west,  and  in  the  east  wind  promise  of  day  fol 
lowed,  soft  and  cool. 

On  the  platform  in  the  gray  light  three  men 
were  climbing  into  the  gangway  of  a  switch-engine, 
the  last  man  so  long  and  so  loosely  put  together 
that  he  was  taking,  as  he  always  took  when  he 
tried  to  get  into  small  quarters,  the  chaffing  of  his 
companions  on  his  size.  He  smiled  languidly  at 
Callahan's  excited  greeting,  and  as  they  ran  down 
the  yard  listened  without  comment  to  the  story  of 
the  washout.  No  words  were  needed  to  convey 
to  Glover  or  to  Blood  the  embarrassment  of  the 
situation.  Freight  trains  crowded  every  track  in 
the  yard,  and  the  block  of  twelve  hours  indicated 
what  a  two-day  tie-up  would  mean.  In  the  canon 
the  roadmasters  were  already  taking  measure- 

65 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

ments  and  section  men  were  lining  up  track  that 
had  been  lifted  and  wrenched  by  the  water.  Cal- 
lahan  and  Blood  did  the  talking,  but  when  they 
left  the  flooded  roadbed  and  Glover  took  a  way 
up  the  canon  wall  it  became  apparent  what  the 
mountain  engineer's  long  legs  were  for.  He  led, 
a  quick,  sure  climber,  and  if  he  meant  by  rapidly 
scaling  the  bowlders  to  shut  off  Callahan's  talk  the 
intent  was  effective.  Nothing  more  was  said  till 
the  three  men,  followed  by  the  roadmasters,  had 
gained  a  ledge,  fifty  feet  above  the  water,  that 
commanded  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  a  view  of  the 
canon. 

They  were  standing  above  the  mouth  of  Dry 
Dollar  Creek,  opposite  the  point  of  rocks  called 
the  Cat's  Paw,  and  Glover,  pulling  his  hat  brim 
into  a  perspective,  looked  up  and  down  the  river. 
The  roadmasters  had  taken  some  measurements 
and  these  they  offered  him,  but  he  did  no  more 
than  listen  while  they  read  their  figures  as  if  men 
tally  comparing  them  with  notes  in  his  memory. 
Once  he  questioned  a  figure,  but  it  was  not  till  the 
roadmaster  insisted  he  was  right  that  Glover  drew 
from  one  of  his  innumerable  pockets  an  old  field- 
book  and  showed  the  man  where  he  had  made  his 
error  of  ten  feet  in  the  disputed  measurement. 

"Bucks  said  last  night  you  knew  all  this  track 
work,"  remarked  Callahan. 

66 


Time  Being  Money 

"I  helped  Hailey  a  little  here  when  he  rebuilt 
three  years  ago.  The  track  was  put  in  then  as 
well  as  it  ever  can  be  put  in.  The  fact  simply  is 
this,  Callahan,  we  shall  never  be  safe  here.  What 
must  be  done  is  to  tunnel  Sleepy  Cat,  get  out  of 
the  infernal  canon  with  the  main  line  and  use 
this  for  the  spur  around  the  tunnel.  When  your 
message  came  last  night,  Morris  and  I  took  the 
chance  to  tell  Mr.  Brock  so,  and  he  is  here  this 
morning  to  see  what  things  look  like  after  a  cloud 
burst.  A  tunnel  will  save  two  miles  of  track  and 
all  the  double-heading." 

"But,  Glover,  what's  that  got  to  do  with  this 
fruit?  Confound  your  tunnel,  what  I  want  is  a 
track.  By  heavens,  if  it's  going  to  take  three  days 
to  get  one  in  we  might  as  well  dump  a  hundred 
cars  of  fruit  into  the  river  now — and  Bucks  is 
looking  to  you  to  save  them." 

"Looking  to  me?"  echoed  Glover,  raising  his 
brows.  "What's  the  matter  with  Agnew?" 

"Oh,  hang  Agnew!" 

"If  you  like.  But  he  is  in  charge  of  this  di 
vision.  I  can't  do  anything  discourteous  or  un 
professional,  Callahan." 

"You  are  not  required  to." 

"It  looks  very  much  as  if  I  am  being  called  in 
to  instruct  Agnew  how  to  do  his  work.  He  is  a 
perfectly  competent  engineer." 

67 


"That  point  has  been  covered.  Bucks  had  a 
long  talk  with  Agnew  over  the  wire  last  night. 
He  is  needed  all  the  time  at  the  Blackwood  bridge 
and  he  is  relieved  here  when  you  arrive.  Now 
what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Nothing  whatever  if  that  is  the  situation.  I'd 
much  rather  keep  out  of  it,  but  there  isn't  work 
enough  here  for  two  engineers. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"This  isn't  very  bad." 

"Not  very  bad !  Well,  how  much  time  do  you 
want  to  put  a  track  in  here?" 

Glover's  eyes  were  roaming  up  and  down  the 
canon.  "How  much  can  you  give  me?"  he  asked. 

"Till  to-night." 

Glover  looked  at  his  watch.  "Then  get  two 
hundred  and  fifty  men  in  here  inside  of  an 
hour." 

"We've  picked  up  about  seventy-five  section 
men  so  far,  but  there  aren't  two  hundred  and  fifty 
men  within  a  hundred  miles." 

Glover  pointed  north.  "Ed  Smith's  got  two 
hundred  men  not  over  three  miles  from  here  on 
the  irrigation  ditch." 

"That  only  shows  I've  no  business  in  this 
game,"  remarked  Callahan,  looking  at  Morris 
Blood.  "This  is  where  you  take  hold." 

Blood  nodded.  "Leave  that  to  me.  Let's  have 
68 


Time  Being  Money 

the  orders  all  at  once,  Ab.  Say  where  you  want 
headquarters." 

The  engineer  stretched  a  finger  toward  the 
point  of  rocks  across  the  canon.  "Right  above  the 
Cat's  Paw." 

"Tell  Bill  Dancing  to  cut  in  the  wrecking  in 
strument  and  put  an  operator  over  there  for 
Glover's  orders,"  directed  Blood,  turning  to  Smith 
Young. 

"I'm  off  for  something  to  eat,"  said  Callahan, 
"and  by  the  way,  what  shall  I  tell  Bucks  about  the 
chances?" 

"Can  you  get  Ed  Smith's  outfit?"  asked  Glover, 
speaking  to  Blood.  "Well,  I  know  you  can — 
Ed's  a  Denver  man."  He  meditated  another 
moment;  "We  need  his  whole  outfit,  mind 
you." 

"I'll  get  it  or  resign.  If  I  succeed,  when  can 
you  get  a  train  through?" 

"By  midnight."  Callahan  staggered.  Glover 
raised  his  finger.  "If  you  back  off  the  ledge  they 
will  need  a  new  general  superintendent." 

"By  midnight?" 

"I  think  so." 

"^cu  can't  get  your  rock  in  by  that  time?" 

"I  reckon." 

"Agnew  says  it  will  take  a  hundred  cars." 

"That's  not  far  out  of  the  way.  On  flat  cars 
69 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

you  won't  average  much  over  ten  yards  to  the  car, 
will  you,  Morris?" 

Like  two  wary  gamblers  Callahan  and  the  chief 
of  construction  on  the  mountain  lines  coldly  eyed 
each  other,  Glover  standing  pat  and  the  general 
superintendent  disinclined  through  many  experi 
ences  to  call. 

"I'm  not  doing  the  talking  now,"  said  Callahan 
at  length  with  a  sidewise  glance,  "but  if  you  get  a 
hundred  cars  of  rock  into  that  hole  by  twelve 
o'clock  to-night — not  to  speak  of  laying  steel — 
you  can  have  my  job,  old  man." 

"Then  look  up  another  right  away,  for  I'll  have 
the  rock  in  the  river  long  before  that.  Now  don't 
rubber,  but  get  after  the  men  and  the  drills " 

"The  drills?" 

"I  said  the  whole  outfit." 

"Would  it  be  proper  to  ask  what  you  are  going 
to  drill?" 

"Perfectly  proper."  Glover  pointed  again  to 
the  shelving  wall  across  the  river.  "It  will  save 
time  and  freight  to  tumble  the  Cat's  Paw  into  the 
river — there's  ten  times  the  rock  we  need  right 
there — I  can  dump  a  thousand  yards  where  we 
need  it  in  thirty  seconds  after  I  get  my  powder  in. 
That  will  give  us  our  foundation  and  your  road- 
masters  can  lay  a  track  over  it  in  six  hours  that 
will  carry  your  fruit — I  wouldn't  recommend  it 

70 


Time  Being  Money 

for  dining-cars,  but  it  will  do  for  plums  and 
cherries.  And  by  the  way,  Morris,"  called 
Glover — Blood  already  twenty  feet  away  was 
scrambling  down  the  path — "if  Ed  Smith's  got  any 
giant  powder  borrow  sticks  enough  to  spring 
thirty  or  forty  holes  with,  will  you?  I've  got 
plenty  of  black  up  at  Pilot.  You  can  order  it 
down  by  the  time  we  are  ready  to  blast." 

In  another  hour  the  canon  looked  as  if  a  hive 
of  bees  were  swarming  on  the  Cat's  Paw.  With 
shovels,  picks,  bars,  hammers,  and  drills,  hearty 
in  miners'  boots  and  pied  in  woollen  shirts  the 
first  of  Ed  Smith's  men  were  clambering  into 
place.  The  field  telegraph  had  been  set  up  on  the 
bench  above  the  point:  every  few  moments  a  new 
batch  of  irrigation  men  appeared  stringing  up  the 
ledge,  and  with  the  roadmasters  as  lieutenants, 
Glover,  on  the  apex  of  the  low  spur  of  the  moun 
tain,  taking  reports  and  giving  orders,  surveyed 
his  improvised  army. 

At  the  upper  and  lower  ends  of  the  track  where 
the  roadbed  had  not  completely  disappeared  the 
full  force  of  section  men,  backed  by  the  irrigation 
laborers,  were  busy  patching  the  holes. 

At  the  point  where  the  break  was  complete  and 
the  Rat  River  was  viciously  licking  the  ver 
tical  face  of  the  rock  a  crew  of  men,  six  feet 
above  the  track  level,  were  drilling  into  the  first 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

ledge  a  set  of  six-foot  holes.  On  the  next  receding 
ledge,  twelve  feet  above  the  old  track  level,  a 
second  crew  were  tamping  a  set  of  holes  to  be 
sunk  twelve  feet.  Above  them  the  drills  were 
cutting  into  the  third  ledge,  and  still  higher  and 
farther  back,  at  twenty  feet,  the  largest  of  all  the 
crews  was  sinking  the  eighteen-foot  holes  to  com 
plete  the  fracture  of  the  great  wall.  Above  the 
murmuring  of  the  steel  rang  continually  the  calls 
of  the  foremen,  and  hour  after  hour  the  shock 
of  the  drills  churned  up  and  down  the  narrow 
canon. 

During  each  hour  Glover  was  over  every  foot 
of  the  work,  and  inspecting  the  track  building.  If 
a  track  boss  couldn't  understand  what  he  wanted 
the  engineer  could  take  a  pick  or  a  bar  and  give 
the  man  an  object  lesson.  He  patrolled  the  canon 
walls,  the  roadmasters  behind  him,  with  so  good 
an  eye  for  loose  bowlders,  and  fragments  such  as 
could  be  moved  readily  with  a  gad,  that  his  as 
sistants  before  a  second  round  had  spotted  every 
handy  chunk  of  rock  within  fifty  feet  of  the  water. 
He  put  his  spirit  into  the  men  and  they  gave  their 
work  the  enthusiasm  of  soldiers.  But  closest  of 
all  Glover  watched  the  preparations  for  the  blast 
on  the  Cat's  Paw. 

Morris  Blood  in  the  meantime  was  sweeping  the 
division  for  stone,  ballast,  granite,  gravel,  anything 

72 


Time  Being  Money 

that  would  serve  to  dump  on  Glover's  rock  after  the 
blast,  and  the  two  men  were  conferring  on  the  track 
about  the  supplies  when  a  messenger  appeared 
with  word  for  Glover  that  Mr.  Brock's  party 
were  coming  down  the  canon. 

When  Glover  intercepted  the  visitors  they  had 
already  been  guided  to  the  granite  bench  where  his 
headquarters  were  fixed.  With  Mr.  Brock  had 
come  the  young  men,  Miss  Donner,  and  Mrs. 
Whitney.  Mrs.  Whitney  signalized  her  arrival 
by  sitting  down  on  a  chest  of  dynamite — having 
intimidated  the  modest  headquarters  custodian  by 
asking  for  a  chair  so  imperiously  that  he  was  glad 
to  walk  away  at  her  suggestion  that  he  hunt  one 
up — though  there  was  not  a  chair  within  several 
miles.  It  had  been  no  part  of  Glover's  plan  to 
receive  his  guests  at  that  point,  and  his  first  ef 
forts  after  the  greetings  were  to  coax  them  away 
from  the  interest  they  expressed  in  the  equip 
ment  of  an  emergency  .headquarters,  and  get  them 
back  to  where  the  track  crossed  the  river.  But 
when  the  young  people  learned  that  the  blue-eyed 
boy  at  the  little  table  on  the  rock  could  send  a 
telegram  or  a  cablegram  for  them  to  any  part  of 
the  world,  each  insisted  on  putting  a  message 
through  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,  and  even  Mrs. 
Whitney  could  hardly  be  coaxed  from  the 
illimitable  possibilities  just  under  her. 

73 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

With  a  feeling  of  relief  he  got  them  away  from 
the  giant  powder  which  Ed  Smith's  men  were  still 
bringing  in,  and  across  the  river  to  the  ledge  that 
commanded  the  whole  scene,  and  was  safely  re 
moved  from  its  activities. 

Glover  took  ten  minutes  to  point  out  to  the 
president  of  the  system  the  difficulties  that  would 
always  confront  the  operating  department  in  the 
canon.  He  charted  clearly  for  Mr.  Brock  the  whole 
situation,  with  the  hope  that  when  certain  very 
heavy  estimates  went  before  the  directors  one  man 
at  least  would  understand  the  necessity  for  them. 
Mr.  Brock  was  a  good  questioner,  and  his  interest 
turned  constantly  from  the  general  observations 
offered  by  Glover  to  the  work  immediately  in 
hand,  which  the  engineer  had  no  mind  to  exploit. 
The  young  people,  however,  were  determined  to 
see  the  blast,  and  it  was  only  by  strongly  advising 
an  early  dinner  and  promising  that  they  should 
have  due  notice  of  the  blast  that  Glover  got  rid  of 
his  visitors  at  all. 

He  returned  with  them  to  the  caboose  in  which 
they  had  come  down,  and  when  he  got  back  to  the 
work  the  big  camp  kettles  were  already  slung 
along  the  bench,  and  the  engine  bringing  the  car 
of  black  powder  was  steaming  slowing  into  the 
upper  canon.  On  a  flat  bowlder  back  of  the  cooks, 
Morris  Blood,  Ed  Smith,  and  the  roadmasters 

74 


PQ 


Time  Being  Money- 
were  sitting  down  to  coffee  and  sandwiches,  and 
Glover  joined  them.  Men  in  relays  were  eating 
at  the  camp  and  dynamiters  were  picking  their 
way  across  the  face  of  the  Cat's  Paw  with  the 
giant  powder.  The  engineers  were  still  at  their 
coffee-fire  when  the  scream  of  a  locomotive  whistle 
came  through  the  canon  from  below.  Blood 
looked  up.  "There's  one  of  the  fast  mail  engines, 
probably  the  1026.  Who  in  the  world  has 
brought  her  up?" 

"More  than  likely,"  suggested  Glover,  finishing 
his  coffee,  "it's  Bucks." 


75 


CHAPTER   VIII 

SPLITTING    THE    PAW 

PRECEDED  by  a  track  boss  along  the  ledges 
where  the  blasting  crew  was  already  put 
ting  down  the  dynamite,  a  man  almost  as  large  as 
Glover  and  rigged  in  a  storm  cap  and  ulster  made 
his  way  toward  the  camp  headquarters.  The 
mountain  men  sprang  to  their  feet  with  a  greet 
ing  for  the  general  manager — it  was  Bucks. 

He  took  Blood's  welcome  with  a  laugh,  nodded 
to  the  roadmasters,  and  pulling  his  cap  from  his 
head,  turned  to  grasp  Glover's  hand. 

"I  hear  you're  going  to  spoil  some  of  our 
scenery,  Ab.  I  thought  I'd  run  up  and  see  how 
much  government  land  you  were  going  to  move 
without  a  permit.  Glad  you  got  down  so  promptly. 
Callahan  had  nervous  prostration  for  a  while  last 
night.  I  told  him  you'd  have  some  sort  of  a  trick 
in  your  bag,  but  I  didn't  suppose  you  would  spring 
the  side  of  a  mountain  on  us.  Am  I  to  have  any 
coffee  or  not?  What  are  you  eating,  dynamite? 
Why,  there's  Ed  Smith — what  are  you  hanging 
back  in  the  dark  for,  Ed?  Come  out  here  and 

76 


Splitting  the  Paw 

show  youreself.  It  was  like  you  to  lend  us  your 
men.  If  the  boys  forget  it,  I  sha'n't." 

"I'd  rather  see  you  than  a  hundred  men,"  de 
clared  Glover. 

"Then  give  me  something  to  eat,"  suggested 
Bucks. 

As  he  spoke  the  snappy,  sharp  reports  of  ex 
ploding  dynamite  could  be  heard;  they  were 
springing  the  drill  holes.  Bucks  sitting  down  on 
the  bowlder,  wrapping  the  tails  of  his  coat  between 
his  legs  and  taking  coffee  from  Young  drank 
while  the  men  talked.  From  the  box  car  below, 
Ed  Smith's  men  were  packing  the  black  powder 
up  the  trail  to  the  Paw.  When  it  began  going 
into  the  holes,  Glover  went  to  the  ledge  to  oversee 
the  charging. 

In  the  Pittsburg  train,  at  Sleepy  Cat,  an  early 
dinner  was  being  served  to  the  canon  party.  They 
had  come  back  enthusiastic.  The  scenery  was  de 
clared  superb,  and  the  uncertainty  of  the  situation 
most  satisfying.  The  riot  of  the  mountain  stream, 
which  plunging  now  unbridled  from  wall  to  wall 
had  scoured  the  deep  gorge  for  hundreds  of  feet, 
was  a  moving  spectacle.  The  activity  of  the 
swarming  laborers,  preparing  their  one  tremen 
dous  answer  to  the  insolence  of  the  river,  had  be 
hind  it  the  excitement  of  a  game  of  chance.  The 
stake,  indeed,  was  eight  solid  trains  of  perishable 

77 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

freight,  and  the  gambler  that  had  staked  their 
value  and  his  reputation  on  one  throw  of  the  dice 
was  their  own  easy-mannered  guide. 

They  discussed  his  chances  with  the  indifference 
of  spectators.  Doctor  Lanning,  the  only  one  of 
the  young  people  that  had  ever  done  anything 
himself,  was  inclined  to  think  Glover  might  win 
out.  Allen  Harrison  was  willing  to  wager  that 
trains  couldn't  be  got  across  a  hole  like  that  for 
another  twenty-four  hours. 

Mrs.  Whitney  wondered  why,  if  Mr.  Glover 
were  really  a  competent  man,  he  could  not  have 
held  his  position  as  chief  engineer  of  the  system, 
but  Doctor  Lanning  explained  that  frequently 
Western  men  of  real  talent  were  wholly  lacking  in 
ambition  and  preferred  a  free-and-easy  life  to  one 
of  constant  responsibility;  others,  again,  drank — 
and  this  suggestion  opened  a  discussion  as  to 
whether  Western  men  could  possibly  do  more 
drinking  than  Eastern  men,  and  transact  business 
at  all. 

While  the  discussion  proceeded  there  came  a  tele 
gram  from  Glover  telling  Doctor  Lanning  that  the 
blast  would  be  made  about  seven  o'clock.  Prepa 
rations  to  start  were  completed  as  the  company  rose 
from  the  table,  and  Gertrude  Brock  and  Marie 
were  urged  to  join  the  party.  Marie  consented, 
but  Gertrude  had  a  new  book  and  would  not  leave 

78 


Splitting  the  Paw 

it,  and  when  the  others  started  she  joined  her 
father  and  Judge  Saltzer,  her  father's  counsellor, 
now  with  them,  who  were  dining  more  leisurely 
at  their  own  table. 

Bucks  met  the  doctor  and  his  party  at  the  head 
of  the  canon  and  took  them  to  the  high  ledge 
across  the  river,  where  they  had  been  brought  by 
Glover  in  the  morning.  In  the  canon  it  was  al 
ready  dark.  Men  were  eating  around  campfires, 
and  in  the  narrow  strip  of  eastern  sky  between  the 
walls  the  moon  was  rising.  Work-trains  with 
signal  lanterns  were  moving  above  and  below  the 
break,  dumping  ballast  behind  the  track  layers. 
At  a  safe  distance  from  the  coming  blast  a  dozen 
headlights  from  the  roundhouse  were  being  pre 
pared,  and  the  car-tinks  from  Sleepy  Cat  were 
rigging  torches  for  the  night. 

The  blasting  powder  in  twenty-pound  cans  was 
being  passed  from  hand  to  hand  to  the  chargers. 
Score  after  score  of  the  compact  cans  of  high  ex 
plosive  had  been  packed  into  the  scattered  holes, 
and  as  if  alive  to  what  was  coming  the  chill  air  of 
the  canon  took  on  the  uneasiness  of  an  atmosphere 
laden  with  electricity.  Men  of  the  operating  de 
partment  paced  the  bench  impatiently,  and  track 
men  working  below  in  the  flare  of  scattered 
torches  looked  up  oftener  from  their  shovels  to 
where  a  chain  of  active  figures  moved  on  the  face 

79 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

of  the  cliff.  Word  passed  again  and  again  that 
the  charging  was  done,  but  the  orders  came 
steadily  from  the  gloom  on  the  ledge  for  more 
powder  until  the  last  pound  the  engineer  called 
for  had  been  buried  beneath  his  feet  in  the  sleep 
ing  rock. 

After  a  long  delay  a  red  light  swung  slowly  to 
and  fro  on  the  ledge.  From  the  extreme  end  of 
the  canon  below  the  Cat's  Paw  came  the  crash  of 
a  track-torpedo,  answered  almost  instantly  by  a 
second,  above  the  break.  It  was  the  warning 
signal  to  get  into  the  clear.  There  was  a  buzz  of 
rapid  movement  among  the  laborers.  In  twos  and 
threes  and  dozens,  a  ragged  procession  of  lanterns 
and  torches,  they  retreated,  foremen  urging  the 
laggards,  until  only  a  single  man  at  each  end  of  the 
broken  track  kept  within  sight  of  the  tiny  red 
lantern  on  the  ledge.  Again  it  swung  in  a  circle 
and  again  the  torpedoes  replied,  this  time  all 
clear.  The  hush  of  a  hundred  voices,  the  silence 
of  the  bars  and  shovels  and  picks  gave  back  to  the 
chill  canon  its  loneliness,  and  the  roar  of  the  river 
rose  undisturbed  to  the  brooding  night. 

On  the  ledge  Glover  was  alone.  The  final  de 
tail  he  was  taking  into  his  own  hands.  The  few 
that  could  still  command  the  point  saw  the  red 
light  moving,  and  beside  it  a  figure  vaguely  out 
lined  making  its  way.  When  the  red  light  paused, 

80 


Splitting  the  Paw 

a  spark  could  be  seen,  a  sputtering  blaze  would 
run  slowly  from  it,  hesitate,  flare  and  die.  An 
other  and  another  of  the  fuses  were  touched 
and  passed.  With  quickening  steps  tier  after  tier 
was  covered,  until  those  looking  saw  the  red  light 
flung  at  last  into  the  air.  It  circled  high  between  the 
canon  walls  in  its  flight  and  dropped  like  a  rocket 
into  the  Rat.  A  muffled  report  from  the  lower 
tier  was  followed  by  a  heavier  and  still  a  heavier 
one  above.  A  creeping  pang  shot  the  heart  of  the 
granite,  a  dreadful  awakening  was  upon  it. 

From  the  tier  of  the  upmost  holes  came  at 
length  the  terrific  burst  of  the  heavy  mines.  The 
travail  of  an  awful  instant  followed,  the  face  of 
the  spur  parted  from  its  side,  toppled  an  instant 
in  the  confusion  of  its  rending  and  with  an  ap 
palling  crash  fell  upon  the  river  below. 

With  the  fragments  still  tumbling,  the  nearest 
men  started  with  a  cheer  from  their  concealment. 
Smoke  rolling  white  and  sullen  upward  obscured 
the  moon,  and  the  canon  air,  salt  and  sick  with 
gases,  poured  over  the  high  point  on  which  the 
Pittsburgers  stood.  Below,  torches  were  shoot 
ing  like  fireflies  out  of  the  rock.  From  every 
vantage  point  headlights  flashed  one  after  another 
unhooded  on  the  scene,  and  the  song  of  the  river 
mingled  again  with  the  calling  of  the  foremen. 

"That  ends  the  fireworks,"  remarked  Bucks  to 
81 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

those  about  him.  "Let  us  watch  a  moment  for 
Mr.  Glover's  signal  to  me.  As  soon  as  he  inspects 
he  is  to  show  signals  on  the  Cat's  Paw,  and  if  it  is 
a  success  we  will  return  at  once  to  Sleepy  Cat." 

"And  by  the  way,  Mr.  Bucks,  I  shall  expect 
you  and  Mr.  Glover  up  to  the  car  for  my  game 
supper.  Have  you  arranged  for  him  to  come?" 

"I  have,  Mrs.  Whitney,  thank  you." 

"Oh,  see  those  pretty  red  lights  over  there 
now.  What  are  they?"  asked  Louise,  who  stood 
with  Allen  Harrison. 

"The  signals,"  exclaimed  Bucks.  "Three  fu 
sees.  Good  for  Glover;  that  means  success. 
Shall  we  go?" 

When  the  sightseers  made  their  way  out  of  the 
canon  material  trains  working  from  both  ends  of 
the  break  were  shoving  their  loaded  flats  noisily 
up  to  the  ballasting  crews  and  the  water  was  echo 
ing  the  clang  of  the  spike  mauls,  the  thud  of 
tamping-irons,  the  clash  of  picks,  the  splash  of 
tumbling  stone,  and  the  ceaseless  roll  of  shovels. 

Foot  by  foot,  length  by  length,  the  gap  was 
shortened.  Bribed  by  extra  pay,  driven  by  the 
bosses,  and  stimulated  by  the  emergency,  the  work 
of  the  graders  became  an  effort  close  to  fury. 
Watches  were  already  consulted  and  wagers  were 
being  laid  between  rival  foremen  on  the  moment 

82 


Splitting  the  Paw 

a  train  should  pass  the  point.  Above  the  peaks 
the  stars  glittered,  and  high  in  the  sky  the  moon 
shot  a  path  of  clear  light  down  the  river  itself. 
The  camp  kettles  steamed  constantly,  and  coffee 
strong  enough  to  ballast  eggs  and  primed  with 
unusual  cordials  was  passed  every  hour  among  the 
hundreds  along  the  track. 

In  the  lower  yard  at  Sleepy  Cat  the  pilot  train 
was  being  made  ready  and  the  clatter  of  switch 
ing  came  into  the  canon.  From  still  further  came 
the  barking  exhaust  of  the  first-train  engine  wait 
ing  for  orders  for  the  canon  run. 

Glover  pacing  the  narrow  bench  below  the 
camp  returned  again  to  the  operator's  table,  and 
in  the  light  of  the  lantern  wrote  a  message  to 
Medicine  Bend.  When  it  had  been  sent  he  up 
ended  an  empty  spike  keg,  and  sitting  down  be 
fore  the  fire,  got  his  back  against  a  rock  and  gave 
himself  to  his  thoughts.  Men  straggled  back  and 
forth,  but  none  disturbed  him.  Some,  in  turn,  fed 
the  fire,  some  rolled  themselves  in  their  blankets 
and  lay  down  to  sleep,  but  his  eyes  were  lost  all 
the  while  in  the  leaping  blaze. 

A  volleying  signal  of  the  locomotive  whistles 
roused  him.  He  looked  at  his  watch  and  stepped 
to  the  verge  of  the  ledge.  Toward  Sleepy  Cat  a 
headlight  was  slowly  rounding  the  first  curve. 
The  pilot  train  was  coming  and  below  where  he 

83 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

stood  he  could  see  green  lights  swinging.  The 
locomotive  of  the  work-train  was  at  the  hind  end 
and  the  roadmasters  standing  on  the  first  flat  car 
were  signalling.  Mauls  were  ringing  at  the  last 
spikes  when  the  head  flat  car  moved  cautiously 
out  on  the  new  track.  Car  after  car  approached, 
every  second  one  bearing  a  flagman  re-signalling  to 
the  cab  as  the  train  took  the  short  curves  of  the 
canon  and  entering  the  gorge  rolled  slowly  be 
neath  the  Cat's  Paw  over  the  prostrate  granite. 

The  trackmen  parted  only  long  enough  to  give 
way  to  the  advancing  cars.  The  locomotive 
steamed  gingerly  along.  In  the  gangway  stood 
a  small,  broad-hatted  man,  Morris  Blood.  He 
waved  his  lantern  at  Glover,  and  Glover  caught 
up  a  hand-torch  to  swing  an  answering  greeting. 

Down  the  uncertain  track  could  be  seen  at  re 
assuring  intervals  the  slow,  green  lights  of  the 
track  foremen  swinging  all's  well.  The  deepen 
ing  drum  of  the  steaming  engine  as  it  entered  the 
gorge  walls,  the  straining  of  the  injectors,  and  the 
frequent  hissing  check  of  the  air  as  the  powerful 
machine  restrained  its  moving  load,  was  music  to 
the  tired  listener  above.  Then,  looming  darkly 
behind  the  tender,  surprising  the  onlookers,  even 
Glover  himself,  came  the  real  train.  Not  till  the 
roadbuilders  heard  the  heavy  drop  of  the  big 
cars  on  the  new  rail  joints  did  they  realize  that 

84 


Splitting  the  Paw 

the  first  train  of  fruit  was  already  crossing  the 
break. 

Ten  minutes  afterward  Bucks,  who  was  with 
Mr.  Brock  in  the  directors'  car,  had  the  news  in 
a  message.  The  manager  had  agreed  to  have 
Glover  present  for  the  supper  which  was  now 
waiting,  and  for  some  time  messengers  and  tele 
grams  passed  from  the  Brock  Special  to  the  canon. 
It  was  not  until  twelve  o'clock  that  they  learned 
definitely  through  word  from  Morris  Blood  that 
Glover  had  torn  his  hand  slightly  in  handling 
powder  and  had  gone  to  Medicine  Bend  to  have 
it  dressed. 


85 


A    TRUCE 

IF  Glover's  aim  in  disappearing  had  been  to 
escape  the  embarrassment  of  Mrs.  Whitney's 
attentions  the  effort  was  successful  only  in  part. 

Lanning  and  Harrison  left  in  the  morning  in 
charge  of  Bill  Dancing  to  join  the  hunting  party 
in  the  Park,  and  Mr.  Brock  finding  himself  within 
a  few  hours'  ride  of  Medicine  Bend  decided  to 
run  down.  Late  in  the  afternoon  the  Pittsburg 
train  drew  up  at  the  Wickiup. 

Gertrude  and  her  sister  left  their  car  together 
to  walk  in  the  sunshine  that  flooded  the  platform, 
for  the  sun  was  still  a  little  above  the  mountains. 
In  front  of  the  eating-house  a  fawn-colored  collie 
racing  across  the  lawn  attracted  Gertrude,  and 
with  her  sister  she  started  up  the  walk  to  make 
friends  with  him.  In  one  of  his  rushes  he 
darted  up  the  eating-house  steps  and  ran  around 
to  the  west  porch,  the  two  young  ladies  leisurely 
following.  As  they  turned  the  corner  they  saw 
their  runaway  crouching  before  a  man  who,  with 
one  foot  on  the  low  railing,  stood  leaning  against 
a  pillar.  The  collie  was  waiting  for  a  lump  of 

86 


A  Truce 

sugar,  and  his  master  had  just  taken  one  from 
the  pocket  of  his  sack  coat  when  the  young  ladies 
recognized  him. 

"Really,  Mr.  Glover,  your  tastes  are  domestic," 
declared  Marie;  "you  make  excellent  taffy — now 
I  find  you  feeding  a  collie."  She  pointed  to  the 
lump  of  sugar.  "And  how  is  your  hand?" 

"I  can't  get  over  seeing  you  here,"  said  Glover, 
collecting  himself  by  degrees.  "When  did  you 
come?  Take  these  chairs,  won't  you?" 

"You,  I  believe,  are  responsible  for  the  early 
resumption  of  traffic  through  the  canon,"  answered 
Marie.  "Besides,  nothing  in  our  wanderings  need 
ever  cause  surprise.  Anyone  unfortunate  enough 
to  be  attached  to  a  directors'  party  will  end  in  a 
feeble-minded  institution." 

Gertrude  was  talking  to  the  collie.  "Isn't  he 
beautiful,  Marie?"  she  exclaimed.  "Come  here, 
you  dear  fellow.  I  fell  in  love  with  him  the  min 
ute  I  saw  him — to  whom  does  he  belong,  Mr. 
Glover?  Come  here." 

"How  is  your  hand?"  asked  Marie. 

"Do  give  Mr.  Glover  a  chance,"  interposed 
Gertrude.  "Tell  me  about  this  dog,  Mr.  Glover." 

"He  is  the  best  dog  in  the  world,  Miss  Brock. 
Mr.  Bucks  gave  him  to  me  when  I  first  came 
to  the  mountains — we  were  puppies  together " 

"And  how  about  your  hand?"  smiled  Marie. 
87 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"What  is  his  name?"  asked  Gertrude. 

"It  wasn't  a  hand,  it  was  a  wrist,  and  it  is  much 
better,  thank  you — his  name  is  Stumah." 

"Stumah?  How  odd.  Come  here,  Stumah. 
Does  he  mind?" 

"He  doesn't  mind  me,  but  no  one  minds  me,  so 
I  forgive  him  that." 

"Aunt  Jane  doesn't  think  you  mind  very  well," 
said  Marie.  "Clem  had  a  steak  twice  as  large  as 
usual  prepared  for  the  supper  you  ran  away 
from." 

"It  is  always  my  misfortune  to  miss  good 
things." 

Talking,  Glover  and  Marie  followed  Gertrude 
and  Stumah  out  on  the  grass  and  across  to  the  big 
platform  where  an  overland  train  had  pulled  in 
from  the  west.  They  watched  the  changing  of 
the  engines  and  the  crews,  and  the  promenade 
of  the  travellers  from  the  Pullmans. 

While  Gertrude  amused  herself  with  the  dog, 
and  Marie  asked  questions  about  the  locomotive, 
Mrs.  Whitney  and  Louise  spied  them  and  walked 
over.  Glover,  to  make  his  peace,  was  compelled 
to  take  dinner  with  the  party  in  their  car.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  special  train  had  never  seemed 
so  attractive  as  on  that  night.  To  cordiality  was 
added  deference.  The  effect  of  his  success  in  the 
canon — only  striking  rather  than  remarkable — was 

88 


A  Truce 

noticeable  on  Mr.  Brock.  At  dinner,  which  was 
served  at  one  table  in  the  dining-car,  Glover  was 
brought  by  the  Pittsburg  magnate  to  sit  at  his 
own  right  hand,  Bucks  being  opposite.  No  one 
may  ever  say  that  the  value  of  resource  in  emer 
gency  is  lost  on  the  dynamic  Mr.  Brock.  But  hav 
ing  placed  his  guest  in  the  seat  of  honor  he  paid 
no  further  attention  to  him  unless  his  running  fire 
of  big  secrets,  discussed  before  the  engineer  un 
reservedly  with  Bucks,  might  be  taken  as  imply 
ing  that  he  looked  on  the  constructionist  of  the 
Mountain  Division  as  one  of  his  inner  official 
family. 

Glover  understood  the  abstraction  of  big  men, 
and  this  forgetfulness  was  no  discouragement. 
There  was  an  abstraction  on  his  left  where  Ger 
trude  sat  that  was  less  comfortable. 

At  no  moment  during  the  time  he  had  spent 
with  the  company  had  he  been  able  to  penetrate 
her  reserve  enough  to  make  more  than  an  attempt 
at  an  apology  for  his  appalling  blunder  in  the  office. 
With  the  others  he  never  found  himself  at  a  loss 
for  a  word  or  an  opportunity;  with  Gertrude  he 
was  apparently  helpless. 

The  talk  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table  ran  for 
a  while  to  comment  on  the  washout,  to  Glover's 
wrist,  and  during  lulls  Mrs.  Whitney  across  the 
table  asked  questions  calculated  to  draw  a  family 

89 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

history  from  her  uneasy  guest.  Even  Glover's 
waiter  gave  him  so  much  attention  that  he  got 
little  to  eat,  but  the  engineer  concealed  no  effort  to 
see  that  Gertrude  Brock  was  served  and  to  break 
down  by  unobtrusive  courtesies  her  determined 
restraint. 

When  the  evening  was  over  he  found  himself 
at  the  pass  to  which  every  evening  in  her  company 
brought  him — the  unpleasant  consciousness  of  a 
failure  of  his  endeavors  and  a  return  of  the  rage 
he  felt  at  himself  for  having  blundered  into  her 
bad  graces.  Her  father  wanted  him  to  return 
with  them  in  the  morning  to  Sleepy  Cat  to  go  over 
the  tunnel  plans  again.  That  done,  Glover  re 
solved  at  all  costs  to  escape  from  the  punishment 
which  every  moment  near  her  brought. 

When  they  started  for  Sleepy  Cat,  the  afternoon 
sun  was  bright,  and  much  of  the  time  was  spent 
on  the  pretty  observation  platform  of  the  Brock 
car.  During  the  shifting  of  the  groups  Mr. 
Brock  stepped  forward  into  the  directors'  car  for 
some  papers,  and  Gertrude  found  herself  alone  for 
a  moment  on  the  platform  with  Glover.  She  was 
watching  the  track.  He  was  studying  a  blueprint, 
and  this  time  he  made  no  effort  to  break  the 
silence.  Determined  that  the  interval  should  not 
become  a  conscious  one  she  spoke.  "Papa  seems 
unwilling  to  give  you  much  rest  to-day." 

90 


A  Truce 

"I  think  I  am  learning  more  from  him,  though, 
than  he  is  learning  from  me,"  returned  Glover, 
without  looking  up.  "He  is  a  man  of  big  ideas; 
I  should  be  glad  of  a  chance  to  know  him." 

"You  are  likely  to  have  that  during  the  next 
two  weeks." 

"I  fear  not." 

"Did  you  not  understand  that  Judge  Saltzer 
and  he  are  both  to  be  with  our  party  now?" 

"But  I  am  to  leave  it  to-night." 

She  made  no  comment.  "You  do  not  under 
stand  why  I  joined  it,"  he  continued,  "after 
my " 

"I  understand,  at  least,  how  distasteful  the  as 
sociation  must  have  been." 

He  had  looked  up,  and  without  flinching,  he 
took  the  blow  into  his  slow,  heavy  eyes,  but  in  a 
manner  as  mild  as  Glover's,  defiance  could  hardly 
be  said  to  have  place  at  any  time. 

"I  have  given  you  too  good  ground  to  visit 
your  impatience  on  me,"  he  said,  "and  I  confess 
I've  stood  the  ordeal  badly.  Your  contempt  has 
cut  me  to  the  quick.  But  don't,  I  beg,  add  to  my 
humiliation  by  such  a  reproach.  I'm  blundering, 
but  not  wholly  reprobate." 

Her  father  appeared  at  the  door.  Glover's  eyes 
were  fastened  on  the  blueprint. 

Gertrude  let  her  magazine  lie  in  her  lap.     She 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

could  not  at  all  understand  the  plans  the  two  men 
were  discussing,  but  her  father  spoke  so  confi 
dently  about  taking  up  Glover's  suggestions  in 
detail  during  the  two  weeks  that  they  should  have 
together,  and  Glover  said  so  little,  that  she  inter 
vened  presently  with  a  little  remark.  "Papa;  are 
you  not  forgetting  that  Mr.  Glover  says  he  cannot 
be  with  us  on  the  Park  trip." 

"I  am  not  forgetting  it  because  Mr.  Glover 
hasn't  said  so." 

"I  so  understood  Mr.  Glover." 

"Certainly  not,"  objected  Mr.  Brock,  looking 
at  his  companion. 

"It  is  a  disappointment  to  me,"  said  Glover, 
"that  I  can't  be  with  you." 

"Why,  Mr!  Bucks  and  I  have  arranged  it,  to 
day.  There  are  no  other  duties,"  observed  Mr. 
Brock,  tersely. 

"True,  but  the  fact  is  I  am  not  well." 

"Nonsense;  tired  out,  that's  all.  We  will  rest 
you  up;  the  trip  will  refresh  you.  I  want  you  with 
me  very  particularly,  Mr.  Glover." 

"Which  makes  me  the  sorrier  I  cannot  be." 

"Here,  Mr.  Bucks,"  called  Mr.  Brock,  ab 
ruptly,  through  the  open  door.  "What's  the 
matter  with  your  arrangements?  Mr.  Glover 
says  he  can't  go  through  the  Park." 

The  patient  manager  left  Judge  Saltzer,  with 
92 


I  hate   to  see   a   man   ruin  his   own   chances   in   this  way,"    he 
was  saying. 


A  Truce 

whom  he  was  talking,  and  came  out  on  the  plat 
form.  Gertrude  went  into  the  car.  When  the 
train  reached  Sleepy  Cat,  at  dusk,  she  was  sitting 
alone  in  her  favorite  corner  near  the  rear  door. 
The  train  stopped  at  a  junction  semaphore  and 
she  heard  Bucks'  voice  on  the  observation  plat 
form. 

"I  hate  to  see  a  man  ruin  his  own  chances  in 
this  way,  that's  all,"  he  was  saying.  "I've  set  the 
pins  for  you  to  take  the  rebuilding  of  the  whole 
main  line,  but  you  succeed  admirably  in  undo 
ing  my  plans.  By  declining  this  opportunity 
you  relegate  yourself  to  obscurity  just  as  you've 
made  a  hit  in  the  canon  that  is  a  fortune  in  it 
self." 

"Whatever  the  effect,"  she  heard  someone  reply 
with  an  effort  at  lightness,  "deal  gently  with  me, 
old  man.  The  trouble  is  of  my  own  making.  I 
seem  unable  to  face  the  results." 

The  train  started  and  the  voices  were  lost. 
Bucks  stepped  into  the  car  and,  without  seeing 
Gertrude  in  the  shadow,  walked  forward.  She 
felt  that  Glover  was  alone  on  the  platform  and 
sat  for  several  moments  irresolute.  After  a  while 
she  rose,  crossed  to  the  table  and  fingered  the  roses 
in  the  jar.  She  saw  him  sitting  alone  in  the  dusk 
and  stepped  to  the  door;  the  train  had  slowed  for 
the  yard.  "Mr.  Glover? — do  not  get  up — may  I 

93 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

be  frank  for  a  moment?  I  fear  I  am  causing  un 
necessary  complications — "  Glover  had  risen. 

"You,  Miss  Brock?" 

"Did  you  really  mean  what  you  said  to  me  this 
afternoon?" 

"Very  sincerely." 

"Then  I  may  say  with  equal  sincerity  that  I 
should  feel  sorry  to  spoil  papa's  plans  and  Mr. 
Bucks'  and  your  own." 

"It  is  not  you,  at  all,  but  I  who  have " 

"I  was  going  to  suggest  that  something  in  the 
nature  of  a  compromise  might  be  managed " 

"I  have  lost  confidence  in  my  ability  to  manage 
anything,  but  if  you  would  manage  I  should  be 
very " 

"It  might  be  for  two  weeks — "  She  was  half 
laughing  at  her  own  suggestion  and  at  his  serious 
ness. 

"I  should  try  to  deserve  an  extension." 

" — To  begin  to-morrow  morning " 

"Gladly,  for  that  would  last  longer  than  if  it 
began  to-night.  Indeed,  Miss  Brock,  I 

"But — please — I  do  not  undertake  to  receive 
explanations."  He  could  only  bow.  "The 
status,"  she  continued,  gravely,  "should  remain,  I 
think,  the  same." 


94 


CHAPTER   X 

AND     A     SHOCK 

THE  directors'  party  had  been  inspecting  the 
Gamp  Pilot  mines.  The  train  was  riding 
the  crest  of  the  pass  when  the  sun  set,  and  in  the 
east  long  stretches  of  snow-sheds  were  vanishing 
in  the  shadows  of  the  valley. 

Glover,  engaged  with  Mr.  Brock,  Judge 
Saltzer,  and  Bucks,  had  been  forward  all  day, 
among  the  directors.  The  compartments  of  the 
Brock  car  were  closed  when  he  walked  back 
through  the  train  and  the  rear  platform  was  de 
serted.  He  seated  himself  in  his  favorite  corner 
of  the  umbrella  porch,  where  he  could  cross  his 
legs,  lean  far  back,  and  with  an  engineer's  eye 
study  the  swiftly  receding  grace  of  the  curves  and 
elevations  of  the  track.  They  were  covering  a 
stretch  of  his  own  construction,  a  pet,  built  when 
he  still  felt  young;  when  he  had  come  from  the 
East  fiery  with  the  spirit  of  twenty-five. 

But  since  then  he  had  seen  seven  years  of  bliz 
zards,  blockades,  and  washouts;  of  hard  work, 
hardships,  and  disappointments.  This  maiden 
track  that  they  were  speeding  over  he  was  not 

95 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

ashamed  of;  the  work  was  good  engineering  yet. 
But  now  with  new  and  great  responsibilities  on 
his  horizon,  possibilities  that  once  would  have 
fired  his  imagination,  he  felt  that  seven  years  in 
and  out  of  the  mountains  had  left  him  battle- 
scarred  and  moody. 

"My  sister  was  saying  last  night  as  she  saw  you 
sitting  where  you  are  now — that  we  should  always 
associate  this  corner  with  you.  Don't  get  up." 
Gertrude  Brock,  dressed  for  dinner,  stood  in  the 
doorway.  "You  never  tire  of  watching  the  track," 
she  said,  sinking  into  the  chair  he  offered  as  he 
rose.  Her  frank  manner  was  unlocked  for,  but 
he  knew  they  were  soon  to  part  and  felt  that  some 
thing  of  that  was  behind  her  concession.  He 
answered  in  his  mood. 

"The  track,  the  mountains,"  he  replied;  "I  have 
little  else." 

"Would  not  many  consider  the  mountains 
enough?" 

"No  doubt." 

"I  should  think  them  a  continual  inspiration." 

"So  they  are;  though  sometimes  they  inspire  too 
much." 

"It  is  so  still  and  beautiful  through  here."  She 
leaned  back  in  her  chair,  supported  her  elbows  on 
its  arms  and  clasped  her  hands;  the  stealing 
charm  of  her  cordiality  had  already  roused  him. 

96 


And  a  Shock 

"This  bit  of  track  we  are  covering,"  said  he 
after  a  pause,  "is  the  first  I  built  on  this  division; 
and  just  now  I  have  been  recalling  my  very  first 
sight  of  the  mountains."  She  leaned  slightly  for 
ward,  and  again  he  was  coaxed  on.  "Every  tra 
dition  of  my  childhood  was  associated  with  this 
country — the  plains  and  rivers  and  mountains.  It 
wasn't  alone  the  reading — though  I  read  without 
end — but  the  stories  of  the  old  French  traders  I 
used  to  hear  in  the  shops,  and  sometimes  of  trap 
pers  I  used  to  find  along  the  river  front  of  the 
old  town;  I  fed  on  their  yarns.  And  it  was  always 
the  wild  horse  and  the  buffalo  and  the  Sioux  and 
the  mountains — I  dreamed  of  nothing  else.  Now, 
so  many  times,  I  meet  strangers  that  come  into  the 
mountains — foreigners  often — and  I  can  never 
listen  to  their  rhapsodies,  or  even  read  their  books 
about  the  Rockies,  without  a  jealousy  that  they 
are  talking  without  leave  of  something  that's 
mine.  What  can  the  Rockies  mean  to  them? 
Surely,  if  an  American  boy  has  a  heritage  it  is  the 
Rockies.  What  can  they  feel  of  what  I  felt  the 
first  time  I  stood  at  sunset  on  the  plains  and  my 
very  dreams  loomed  into  the  western  sky?  I  top 
pled  on  my  pins  just  at  seeing  them." 

She  laughed  softly.  "You  are  fond  of  the 
mountains." 

"I  have  little  else,"  he  repeated. 
97 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"Then  they  ought  to  be  loyal  to  you.  But 
the  first  impression — it  hardly  remains,  I  sup 
pose?" 

"I  am  not  sure.  They  don't  grow  any  smaller; 
sometimes  I  think  they  grow  bigger." 

"Then  you  are  fond  of  them.  That's  constancy, 
and  constancy  is  a  capital  test  of  a  charm." 

"But  I'm  never  sure  whether  they  are,  as  you 
say,  loyal  to  me.  We  had  once  on  this  division  a 
remarkable  man  named  Hailey — a  bridge  en 
gineer,  and  a  very  great  one.  He  and  I  stood 
one  night  on  a  caisson  at  the  Spider  Water — 
the  first  caisson  he  put  into  the  river — do  you  re 
member  that  big  river  you  crossed  on  the 
plains " 

"Indeed!  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  a  night  I 
spent  at  the  Spider  Water;  continue." 

"Hailey  put  in  the  bridge  there.  'This  old 
stream  ought  to  be  thankful  to  you,  Hailey,  for  a 
piece  of  work  like  this,'  I  said  to  him.  'No,'  he 
answered,  quite  in  earnest;  'the  Spider  doesn't 
like  me.  It  will  get  me  some  time.'  So  I  think 
about  these  mountains.  I  like  them,  and  I  don't 
like  them.  Sometimes  I  think  as  Hailey  thought 
of  the  Spider — and  the  Spider  did  get  him." 

"How  serious  you  grow!"  she  exclaimed, 
lightly. 

"The  truce  ends  to-morrow." 
98 


And  a  Shock 

"And  the  journey  ends,"  she  remarked,  en 
couragingly. 

"What,  please,  does  that  line  mean  that  I  see  so 
often,  'Journeys  end  in  lovers  meeting?'  ' 

"I  haven't  an  idea.  But,  oh,  these  mountains!" 
she  exclaimed,  stepping  in  caution  to  the  guard 
rail.  "Could  anything  be  more  awful  than  this?" 
They  were  crawling  antlike  up  a  mountain  spur 
that  rose  dizzily  on  their  right;  on  the  left  they 
overhung  a  bottomless  pit.  Their  engines  churned, 
panted,  and  struggled  up  the  curve,  and  as  they 
talked  the  dense  smoke  from  the  stacks  sucked 
far  down  into  the  gap  they  were  skirting. 

"The  roadbed  is  chiselled  out  of  the  granite  all 
along  here.  This  is  the  famed  Mount  Pilot  on 
the  left,  and  this  the  worst  spot  on  the  division 
for  snow.  You  wouldn't  think  of  extending  our 
truce?" 

"To-morrow  we  leave  for  the  coast." 

"But  you  could  leave  the  truce;  and  I  want  it 
ever  so  much." 

She  laughed.  "Why  should  one  want  a  truce 
after  the  occasion  for  it  has  passed?" 

"Sometimes  out  here  in  the  desert  we  get  away 
from  water.  You  don't  know,  of  course,  what  it 
is  to  want  water?  I  lost  a  trail  once  in  the  Span 
ish  Sinks  and  for  two  days  I  wanted  water." 

99 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"Dreadful.  I  have  heard  of  such  things.  How 
did  you  ever  find  your  way  again?" 

He  hesitated.  "Sometimes  instinct  serves  after 
reason  fails.  It  wasn't  very  good  water  when  I 
reached  it,  but  I  did  not  know  about  that  for  two 
weeks.  It  is  a  curious  thing,  too — physiologists, 
I  am  told,  have  some  name  for  the  mental  con 
dition — but  a  man  that  has  suffered  once  for  water 
will  at  times  suffer  intensely  for  it  again,  even 
though  you  saturate  him  with  water,  drown  him 
in  it." 

"How  very  strange;  almost  incredible,  is  it  not? 
Have  you  ever  experienced  such  a  sensation?" 

"I  have  felt  it,  but  never  acutely  until  to-day; 
that  is  why  I  want  to  get  the  truce  extended.  I 
dread  the  next  two  days." 

She  looked  puzzled.  "Mr.  Glover,  if  you  have 
jestingly  beguiled  me  into  real  sympathy  I  shall 
be  angry  in  earnest." 

"You  are  going  to-morrow.  How  could  I  jest 
about  it?  When  you  go  I  face  the  desert  again. 
You  have  come  like  water  into  my  life — are  you 
going  out  of  it  forever  to-morrow?  May  I  never 
hope  to  see  you  again — or  hear  from  you?"  She 
rose  in  amazement;  he  was  between  her  and  the 
door.  "Surely,  this  is  extraordinary,  Mr. 
Glover." 

"Only  a  moment.  I  shall  have  days  enough  of 
100 


And   a  Shock 

silence.  I  dread  to  shock  or  anger  you.  But  this 
is  one  reason  why  I  tried  to  keep  away  from  you 
—just  this — because  I—  And  you,  in  unthinking 
innocence,  kept  me  from  my  intent  to  escape  this 
moment.  Your  displeasure  was  hard  to  bear,  but 
your  kindness  has  undone  me.  Believe  me  or  not 
I  did  fight,  a  gentleman,  even  though  I  have 
fallen,  a  lover." 

The  displeasure  of  her  eyes  as  she  faced  him 
was  her  only  reply.  Indeed,  he  made  hardly  an 
effort  to  support  her  look  and  she  swept  past  him 
into  the  car. 

The  Brock  train  lay  all  next  day  in  the  Medi 
cine  Bend  yard.  A  number  of  the  party,  with 
horses  and  guides,  rode  to  the  Medicine  Springs 
west  of  the  town.  Glover,  buried  in  drawings  and 
blueprints,  was  in  his  office  at  the  Wickiup  all  day 
with  Manager  Bucks  and  President  Brock. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  attention  of  Gertrude, 
reading  alone  in  her  car,  was  attracted  to  a  stout 
boy  under  an  enormous  hat  clambering  with  diffi 
culty  up  the  railing  of  the  observation  platform. 
In  one  arm  he  struggled  for  a  while  with  a  large 
bundle  wrapped  in  paper,  then  dropping  back  he 
threw  the  package  up  over  the  rail,  and  starting 
empty-handed  gained  the  platform  and  picked  up 
his  parcel.  He  fished  a  letter  from  his  pistol 

101 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

pocket,  stared  fearlessly  in  at  Gertrude  Brock  and 
knocked  on  the  glass  panel  between  them. 

"Laundry  parcels  are  to  be  delivered  to  the 
porter  in  the  forward  car,"  said  Gertrude,  open 
ing  the  door  slightly. 

As  she  spoke  the  boy's  hat  blew  off  and  sailed 
down  the  platform,  but  he  maintained  some  dig 
nity.  "I  don't  carry  laundry.  I  carry  telegrams. 
The  front  door  was  locked.  I  seen  you  sitting 
in  there  all  alone,  and  I've  got  a  note  and  had 
orders  to  give  it  to  you  personally,  and  this 
package  personally,  and  not  to  nobody  else,  so  I 
climbed  over." 

"Stop  a  moment,"  commanded  Gertrude,  for 
the  heavy  messenger  was  starting  for  the  railing 
before  she  quite  comprehended.  "Wait  until  I 
see  what  you  have  here."  The  boy,  with  his  hands 
on  the  railing,  was  letting  himself  down. 

"My  hat's  blowin'  off.  There  ain't  any  answer 
and  the  charges  is  paid." 

"Will  you  wait?"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  im 
patiently.  The  very  handwriting  on  the  note  an 
noyed  her.  While  unfamiliar,  her  instinct  con 
nected  it  with  one  person  from  whom  she  was  de 
termined  to  receive  no  communication.  She  hesi 
tated  as  she  looked  at  her  carefully  written  name. 
She  wanted  to  return  the  communication  un 
opened;  but  how  could  she  be  sure  who  had  sent 

1 02 


And  a  Shock 

it?    With  the  impatience  of  uncertainty  she  ripped 
open  the  envelope. 

The  note  was  neither  addressed  nor  signed. 

"I  have  no  right  to  keep  this  after  you  leave; 
perhaps  I  had  no  right  to  keep  it  at  all.  But  in 
returning  it  to  you  I  surely  may  thank  you  for 
the  impulse  that  made  you  throw  it  over  me  the 
morning  I  lay  asleep  behind  the  Spider  dike." 

She  tore  the  package  partly  open — it  was  her 
Newmarket  coat.  Bundling  it  up  again  she  walked 
hastily  to  her  compartment.  For  some  moments  she 
remained  within;  when  she  came  out  the  messenger 
boy,  his  hat  now  low  over  his  ears,  was  sitting 
in  her  chair  looking  at  the  illustrated  paper  she 
had  laid  down.  Gertrude  suppressed  her  aston 
ishment;  she  felt  somehow  overawed  by  the  un- 
conventionalities  of  the  West. 

"Boy,  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"You  said,  wait,"  answered  the  boy,  taking  off 
his  hat  and  rising. 

"Oh,  yes.    Very  well;  no  matter." 

"Ma'am?" 

"No  matter." 

"Does  that  mean  for  me  to  wait?" 

"It  means  you  may  go." 

He  started  reluctantly.  "Gee,"  he  exclaimed, 
under  his  breath,  looking  around,  "this  is  swell  in 
here,  ain't  it?" 

103 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"See  here,  what  is  your  name?" 

"Solomon  Battershawl,  but  most  folks  call  me 
Gloomy." 

"Gloomy!     Where  did  you  get  that  name?" 

"Mr.  Glover." 

"Who  sent  you  with  this  note?" 

"I  can't  tell.  He  gave  me  a  dollar  and  told  me 
I  wasn't  to  answer  any  questions." 

"Oh,  did  he?    What  else  did  he  tell  you?" 

"He  said  for  me  to  take  my  hat  off  when  I 
spoke  to  you,  but  my  hat  blowed  off  when  you 
spoke  to  me." 

"Unfortunate !  Well,  you  are  a  handsome 
fellow,  Gloomy.  What  do  you  do?" 

"I'm  a  railroad  man." 

"Are  you?  How  fine.  So  you  won't  tell  who 
sent  you." 

"No,  ma'am." 

"What  else  did  the  gentleman  say?" 

"He  said  if  anybody  offered  me  anything  I 
wasn't  to  take  anything." 

"Did  he,  indeed,  Gloomy?" 

"Yes'm." 

She  turned  to  the  table  from  where  she  was 
sitting  and  took  up  a  big  box.  "No  money,  he 
meant." 

"Yes'm." 

"How  about  candy?" 

104 


And  a  Shock 

Solomon  shifted. 

"He  didn't  mention  candy?" 

"No'm." 

"Do  you  ever  eat  candy?" 

"Yes'm." 

"This  is  a  box  that  came  from  Pittsburg  only 
this  morning  for  me.  Take  some  chocolates. 
Don't  be  afraid;  take  several.  What  is  your  last 
name?" 

"Battershawl." 

"Gloomy  Battershawl;  how  pretty.  Batter- 
shawl  is  so  euphonious." 

"Yes'm." 

"Who  is  your  best  friend  among  the  railroad 
men?" 

"Mr.  Duffy,  our  chief  despatcher.  I  owe  my 
promotion  to  'im,"  said  Solomon,  solemnly. 

"But  who  gives  you  the  most  money,  I  mean. 
Take  a  large  piece  this  time." 

"Oh,  there  ain't  anybody  gives  me  any  money, 
much,  exceptin'  Mr.  Glover.  I  run  errands  for 
him." 

"What  is  the  most  money  he  ever  gave  you  for 
an  errand,  Gloomy?" 

"Dollar,  twice." 

"So  much  as  that?" 

"Yes'm." 

"What  was  that  for?" 
105 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"The  first  time  it  was  for  taking  his  washing 
down  to  the  Spider  to  him  on  Number  Two  one 
Sunday  morning." 

This  being  a  line  of  answer  Gertrude  had  not 
expected  to  develop  she  started,  but  Solomon  was 
under  way.  "Gee,  the  river  w's  high  that  time. 
He  was  down  there  two  weeks  and  never  went 
to  bed  at  all,  and  came  up  special  in  a  sleeper, 
sick,  and  I  took  care  of  him.  Gee,  he  was  sick." 

"What  was  the  matter?" 

"Noomonia,  the  doctor  said." 

"And  you  took  care  of  him!" 

"Me  an'  the  doctor." 

"What  was  the  other  errand  he  gave  you  a 
dollar  for?" 

"Dassent  tell." 

"How  did  you  know  it  was  I  you  should  give 
your  note  to?" 

"He  told  me  it  was  for  the  brown-haired  young 
lady  that  walked  so  straight — I  knew  you  all  right 
— I  seen  you  on  horseback.  I  guess  I'll  have 
to  be  going  'cause  I  got  a  lot  of  telegrams  to  de 
liver  up  town." 

"No  hurry  about  them,  is  there,?" 

"No,  but's  getting  near  dinner  time.    Good-by." 

"Wait.    Take  this  box  of  candy  with  you." 

Solomon  staggered.    "The  whole  box?" 

"Certainly." 

106 


And  a  Shock 

"Gee!" 

He  slid  over  the  rail  with  the  candy  under  his 
arm. 

When  he  disappeared,  Gertrude  went  back  to 
her  stateroom,  closed  the  door,  though  quite  alone 
in  the  car,  and  re-read  her  note. 

"I  have  no  right  to  keep  this  after  you  leave; 
perhaps  I  had  no  right  to  keep  it  at  all.  But  in 
returning  it  to  you  I  surely  may  thank  you  for  the 
impulse  that  made  you  throw  it  over  me  the  morn 
ing  I  lay  asleep  behind  the  Spider  dike," 

It  was  he,  then,  lying  in  the  rain,  ill  then,  per 
haps — nursed  by  the  nondescript  cub  that  had  just 
left  her. 

The  Newmarket  lay  across  the  berth — a  long, 
graceful  garment.  She  had  always  liked  the  coat, 
and  her  eye  fell  now  upon  it  critically,  wondering 
what  he  thought  of  the  garment  upon  making  so 
unexpected  an  acquaintance  with  her  intimate  be 
longings.  Near  the  bottom  of  the  lining  she  saw 
a  mud  stain  on  the  silk  and  the  pretty  fawn  melton 
was  spotted  with  rain.  She  folded  it  up  before 
the  horseback  party  returned  and  put  it  away, 
stained  and  spotted,  at  the  bottom  of  her  trunk. 


107 


CHAPTER   XI 

IN    THE    LALLA     ROOKH 

THE  car  in  itself  was  in  no  way  remarkable. 
A  twelve-section  and  drawing-room,  ma 
hogany-finish,  wide-vestibule  sleeper,  done  in 
cream  brown,  hangings  shading  into  Indian  reds — 
a  type  of  the  Pullman  car  so  popular  some  years 
ago  for  transcontinental  travel;  neither  too  heavy 
for  the  mountains  nor  too  light  for  the  pace  across 
the  plains. 

There  were  many  features  added  to  the  pas 
senger  schedule  on  the  West  End  the  year  Henry 
S.  Brock  and  his  friends  took  hold  of  the  road,  but 
none  made  more  stir  than  the  new  Number  One, 
run  then  as  a  crack  passenger  train,  a  strictly 
limited,  vestibuled  string,  with  barbers,  baths,  grill 
rooms,  and  five-o'clock  tea.  In  and  out  Number 
One  was  the  finest  train  that  crossed  the  Rockies, 
and  bar  nobody's. 

It  was  October,  with  the  Colorado  travel  almost 
entirely  eastbound  and  the  California  travel  begin 
ning,  westbound,  and  the  Lalla  Rookh  sleeper  be- 

108 


In   the  Lalla  Rookh 

ing  deadheaded  to  the  coast  on  a  special  charter 
for  an  O.  and  O.  steamer  party ;  at  least,  that  was 
all  the  porter  knew  about  its  destination,  and  he 
knew  more  than  anyone  else. 

At  McCloud,  where  the  St.  Louis  connection  is 
made,  Number  One  sets  out  a  diner  and  picks 
up  a  Portland  sleeper — so  it  happened  that  the 
Lalla  Rookh,  hind  car  to  McCloud,  afterward  lay 
ahead  of  the  St.  Louis  car,  and  the  trainmen 
passed,  as  occasion  required,  through  it — lighted 
down  the  gloomy  aisle  by  a  single  Pintsch  burner, 
choked  to  an  all-night  dimness. 

But  on  the  night  of  October  3d,  which  was  a 
sloppy  night  in  the  mountains,  there  was  not  a 
great  deal  to  take  anybody  back  through  the  Lalla 
Rookh.  Even  the  porter  of  the  dead  car  deserted 
his  official  corpse,  and  after  Number  One  pulled 
out  of  Medicine  Bend  and  stuck  her  slim,  aristo 
cratic  nose  fairly  into  the  big  ranges  the  Lalla 
Rookh  was  left  as  dead  as  a  stringer  to  herself 
and  her  reflections — reflections  of  brilliant  aisles 
and  staterooms  inviting  with  softened  lights,  shed 
on  couples  that  resented  intrusion;  of  sections 
bright  with  lovely  faces  and  decks  ringing  with 
talk  and  laughter;  of  ventilators  singing  of  sun 
shine  within,  and  of  night  and  stars  and  waste  with 
out — for  the  Lalla  Rookh  carried  only  the  best 
people,  and  after  the  overland  voyage  on  her 

109 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

tempered  springs  and  her  yielding  cushions  they 
felt  an  affection  for  her.  When  the  Lalla 
Rookh  lived  she  lived;  but  to-night  she  was 
dead. 

This  night  the  pretty  car  sped  over  the  range 
a  Cinderella  deserted,  her  linen  stored  and  checked 
in  her  closets,  her  pillows  bunked  in  her  seats,  and 
her  curtains  folded  in  her  uppers,  save  and  except 
in  one  single  instance — Section  Eleven,  to  conform 
to  certain  deeply  held  ideas  of  the  porter,  Raz 
Brown,  as  to  what  might  and  might  not  constitute 
a  hoodoo,  was  made  up.  Raz  Brown  did  not  play 
much :  he  could  not  and  hold  his  job;  but  when  he 
did  play  he  played  eleven  always  whether  it  fell 
between  seven,  twenty-seven,  or  four,  forty-four. 
And  whenever  Raz  Brown  deadheaded  a  car 
through,  he  always  made  up  section  eleven,  and 
laid  the  hoodoo  struggling  but  helpless  under  the 
chilly  linen  sheets  of  the  lower  berth. 

Glover  had  spent  the  day  without  incident  or 
excitement  on  the  Wind  River  branches,  and  the 
evening  had  gone,  while  waiting  to  take  a  train 
west  to  Medicine  Bend,  in  figuring  estimates  at  the 
agent's  desk  in  Wind  River  station.  He  was 
working  night  and  day  to  finish  the  report  that 
the  new  board  was  waiting  for  on  the  rebuilding 
of  the  system. 

At  midnight  when  he  boarded  the  train  he  made 
no 


his  way  back  to  look  for  a  place  to  stretch  out  un 
til  two  o'clock. 

The  Pullman  conductor  lay  in  the  smoking- 
room  of  the  head  'Frisco  car  dreaming  of  his  sal 
ary — too  light  to  make  any  impression  on  him 
except  when  asleep.  It  seemed  a  pity  to  disturb 
an  honest  man's  dreams,  and  the  engineer  passed 
on.  In  the  smoking-room  of  the  next  car  lay  a 
porter  asleep.  Glover  dropped  his  bag  into  a 
chair  and  took  oft  his  coat.  While  he  was  washing 
his  hands  the  train-conductor,  Billy  O'Brien, 
came  in  and  set  down  his  lantern.  Conductor 
O'Brien  was  very  much  awake  and  inclined  rather 
to  talk  over  a  Mexican  mining  proposition  on 
which  he  wanted  expert  judgment  than  to  let 
Glover  get  to  bed.  When  the  sleepy  man  looked 
at  his  watch  for  the  fifth  time,  the  conductor  was 
getting  his  wind  for  the  dog-watch  and  promised 
to  talk  till  daylight. 

"My  boy,  I've  got  to  go  to  bed,"  declared 
Glover. 

"Every  sleeper  is  loaded  to  the  decks,"  returned 
O'Brien.  "This  is  the  most  comfortable  place 
you'll  find." 

"No,  I'll  go  forward  into  the  chair-car,"  replied 
Glover.  "Good-night." 

"Stopj  Mr.  Glover;  if  you're  bound  to  go,  the 
Lalla  Rookh  car  right  behind  this  is  dead,  but 

in 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

there's  steam  on.  Go  into  the  stateroom  and  throw 
yourself  on  the  couch.  This  is  the  porter  here 
asleep." 

"William,  your  advice  is  good.  I've  taken  it 
too  long  to  disregard  it  now,"  said  Glover,  pick 
ing  up  his  bag.  "Good-night." 

But  it  was  not  a  good  night;  it  was  a  bad  night, 
and  getting  worse  as  Number  One  dipped  into  it. 
Out  of  the  northwest  it  smoked  a  ragged,  wet  fog 
down  the  pass,  and,  as  they  climbed  higher,  a 
bitter  song  from  the  Teton  way  heeled  the  sleep 
ers  over  the  hanging  curves  and  streamed  like  sobs 
through  the  meshed  ventilators  of  the  Lalla 
Rookh.  It  was  a  nasty  night  for  any  sort  of  a 
sleeper;  for  a  dead  one  it  was  very  bad. 

Glover  walked  into  the  Lalla  Rookh  vestibule, 
around  the  smoking-room  passage,  and  into  the 
main  aisle  of  the  car,  dimly  lighted  at  the  hind  end. 
He  made  his  way  to  the  stateroom.  The  open 
door  gave  him  light,  and  he  took  off  his  storm- 
coat,  pulled  it  over  him  for  a  blanket,  and  had 
closed  his  eyes  when  he  reflected  he  had  forgotten 
to  warn  O'Brien  he  must  get  off  at  Medicine  Bend. 

It  was  unpleasant,  but  forward  he  went  again 
to  avoid  the  annoyance  of  being  carried  by.  He 
could  tell  as  he  came  back,  by  the  swing,  that  they 
were  heading  the  Peace  River  curves,  for  the  trucks 
were  hitting  the  elevations  like  punching-bags. 

112 


In  the  Lalla  Rookh 

Just  as  he  regained  the  main  aisle  of  the  Lalla 
Rookh,  a  lurch  of  the  car  plumped  him  against  a 
section-head.  He  grasped  it  an  instant  to  steady 
himself,  and  as  he  stopped  he  looked.  Whether 
it  was  that  his  eyes  fell  on  the  curtained  section 
swaying  under  the  Pintsch  light  ahead — Section 
Eleven  made  up — or  whether  his  eyes  were  drawn 
to  it,  who  can  tell?  A  woman's  head  was  visible 
between  the  curtains.  Glover  stood  perfectly  still 
and  stared.  Without  right  or  reason,  there  cer 
tainly  stood  a  woman. 

With  nobody  whatever  having  any  business  in 
the  car,  a  car  out  of  service,  carried  as  one  carries 
a  locked  and  empty  satchel — yet  the  curtains  of 
Section  Eleven,  next  his  stateroom,  were  parted 
slightly,  and  the  half-light  from  above  streamed  on 
a  woman's  loose  hair.  She  was  not  looking  toward 
where  he  stood;  her  face  was  turned  from  him,  and 
as  she  clasped  the  curtain  she  was  looking  into  his 
stateroom.  What  the  deuce !  thought  Glover.  A 
woman  passenger  in  a  dead  sleeper?  He  balanced 
himself  to  the  dizzy  wheel  of  the  truck  under  him, 
and  waited  for  her  to  look  his  way — since  she  must 
be  looking  for  the  porter — but  the  head  did  not 
move.  The  curtains  swayed  with  the  jerking  of 
the  car,  but  the  woman  in  Eleven  looked  intently 
into  the  dark  stateroom.  What  did  it  mean? 
Glover  determined  a  shock. 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"Tickets!"  he  exclaimed,  sternly — and  stood 
alone  in  the  car. 

"Tickets !"  The  head  was  gone ;  not  alone  that, 
strangely  gone.  How?  Glover  could  not  have 
told.  It  was  gone.  The  Pintsch  burned  dim; 
the  Teton  song  crooned  through  the  ventilators; 
the  wheels  of  the  Lalla  Rookh  struck  muffled  at 
the  fish-plates;  the  curtains  of  Section  Eleven 
swung  slowly  in  and  out  of  the  berth — but  the 
head  was  not  there. 

A  creepy  feeling  touched  his  back;  his  first  im 
pulse  was  to  ignore  the  incident,  go  into  the  state 
room  and  lie  down.  Then  he  thought  he  might 
have  alarmed  the  passenger  in  Eleven  when  he 
had  first  entered.  Yet  there  was,  officially  at  least, 
no  passenger  in  Eleven;  plainly  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  to  call  the  conductor.  He  went  forward. 
O'Brien  was  sorting  his  collections  in  the  smoking- 
room  of  the  next  car.  Raz  Brown,  awake — nomi 
nally,  at  least — sat  by,  reading  his  dream-book. 

"Is  this  the  Lalla  Rookh  porter?"  asked  Glover. 
O'Brien  nodded. 

"Who's  your  passenger  in  Eleven  back  there?" 
demanded  Glover,  turning  to  the  darky. 

"Me?"  stammered  Raz  Brown. 

"Who's  your  fare  in  Eleven  in  Lalla  Rookh?" 

"My  fare?  Why,  I  ain't  got  nair  'a  fare  in 
Lalla  Rookh.  She's  dead,  boss." 

114 


In  the  Lalla  Rookh 

"You've  got  a  woman  passenger  in  Eleven. 
What  are  you  talking  about?  What's  the  matter 
with  you?" 

Raz  Brown's  eyes  rolled  marvellously.  '"Fore 
God,  dere  ain't  nobody  dere  ez  I  knows  on,  Mr. 
O'Brien,"  protested  the  surprised  porter,  getting 
up. 

"There's  a  woman  in  Eleven,  Billy,"  said 
Glover. 

"Come  on,"  exclaimed  O'Brien,  turning  to  the 
porter.  "She  may  be  a  spotter.  Let's  see." 

Raz  Brown  walked  back  reluctantly,  Conductor 
O'Brien  leading.  Into  the  Lalla  Rookh,  dark  and 
quiet,  around  the  smoking-room,  down  the  aisle, 
and  facing  Eleven;  there  the  Pintsch  light  dimly 
burned,  the  draperies  slowly  swayed  in  front  of  the 
darkened  berth.  Raz  Brown  gripped  the  curtains 
preliminarily. 

"Tickets,  ma'am."     There  was  a  heavy  pause. 

"Tickets!"     No  response. 

"C'nduct'h  wants  youh  tickets,  ma'am," 

The  silence  could  be  cut  with  an  axe.  Raz 
Brown  parted  the  curtains,  peered  in,  opened  them 
wider,  peered  farther  in;  pushed  the  curtains  back 
with  both  hands.  The  berth  was  empty. 

Raz  looked  at  Conductor  O'Brien.  O'Brien 
grasped  the  curtains  himself.  The  upper  berth 
hung  closed  above.  The  lower,  made  up,  lay  un- 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

touched — the  pillows  fresh,  the  linen  sheets  folded 
back,  Pullmanwise,  over  the  dark  blanket. 

The  porter  looked  at  Glover.     "See  foh  y'se'f." 

Glover  was  impatient.  "She's  somewhere  about 
the  car,"  he  exclaimed,  "search  it."  Raz  Brown 
went  through  the  Lalla  Rookh  from  vestibule  to 
vestibule :  it  was  as  empty  as  a  ceiling. 

Puzzled  and  annoyed,  Glover  stood  trying  to 
recall  the  mysterious  appearance.  He  walked  back 
to  where  he  had  seen  the  woman,  stood  where  he 
had  stood  and  looked  where  he  had  looked.  She 
had  not  seemed  to  withdraw,  as  he  recalled:  the 
curtains  had  not  closed  before  the  head;  it  had 
vanished.  The  wind  sung  fine,  very  fine  through 
the  copper  screens,  the  Pintsch  light  flowed  very 
low  into  the  bright  globe,  the  curtains  swung  again 
gracefully  to  the  dip  of  the  car;  but  the  head  was 
gone. 

A  discussion  threw  no  light  on  the  mystery.  On 
one  point,  however,  Conductor  O'Brien  was  firm. 
While  the  conductor  and  the  porter  kept  up  the 
talk,  Glover  resumed  his  preparations  for  retiring 
in  the  stateroom,  but  O'Brien  interfered. 

"Don't  do  it.  Don't  you  do  it.  I  wouldn't 
sleep  in  that  room  now  for  a  thousand  dollars." 

"Nonsense." 

"That's  all  right.     I  say  come  forward." 

They  made  him  up  a  corner  in  the  smoking- 
116 


In  the  Lalla  Rookh 

room  of  the  'Frisco  car,  and  he  could  have  slept 
like  a  baby  had  not  the  conviction  suddenly  come 
upon  him  that  he  had  seen  Gertrude  Brock. 
Should  he,  after  all,  see  her  again?  And  what 
did  it  mean?  Why  was  she  looking  in  terror  into 
his  stateroom? 


JI7 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  SLIP   ON   A   SPECIAL 

GLOVER'S  train  pulled  into  Medicine  Bend, 
in  the  rain,  at  half-past  two  o'clock.  The 
face  in  the  Lalla  Rookh  had  put  an  end  to 
thoughts  of  sleep,  and  he  walked  up  to  his  office 
in  the  Wickiup  to  work  until  morning  on  his  re 
port.  He  lighted  a  lamp,  opened  his  desk  with  a 
clang  that  echoed  to  the  last  dark  corner  of  the 
zigzag  hall,  and,  spreading  out  his  papers,  resumed 
the  figuring  he  had  begun  at  Wind  River  station. 
But  the  combinations  which  at  eleven  o'clock  had 
gone  fast  refused  now  to  work.  The  Lalla  Rookh 
curtains  intruded  continually  into  his  problems  and 
his  calculations  dissolved  helplessly  into  an  idle 
stare  at  a  jumble  of  figures. 

He  got  up  at  last,  restless,  walked  through  the 
trainmaster's  room,  into  the  despatcher's  office, 
and  stumbled  on  the  tragedy  of  the  night. 

It  came  about  through  an  ambition  in  itself  hon 
orable — the  ambition  of  Bud  Cawkins  to  become 
a  train-despatcher. 

118 


A  Slip  on  a  Special 

Bud  began  railroading  on  the  Wind  River.  In 
three  months  he  was  made  an  agent,  in  six  months 
he  had  become  an  expert  in  station  work,  an  opera 
tor  after  a  despatcher's  own  heart,  and  the  life  of 
the  line;  then  he  began  looking  for  trouble.  His 
quest  resulted  first  in  the  conviction  that  the  main 
line  business  was  not  handled  nearly  as  well  as  it 
ought  to  be.  Had  Bud  confided  this  to  an  agent  of 
experience  there  would  have  been  no  difficulty. 
He  would  have  been  told  that  every  agent  on  every 
branch  in  the  world,  sooner  or  later,  has  the  same 
conviction;  that  he  need  only  to  let  it  alone,  eat 
sparingly  of  brain  food,  and  the  clot  would  be  sure 
to  pass  unnoticed. 

Unfortunately,  Bud  concealed  his  conviction, 
and  asked  Morris  Blood  to  give  him  a  chance  at 
the  Wickiup.  The  first  time,  Morris  Blood  only 
growled;  the  second  time  he  looked  at  the  hand 
some  boy  disapprovingly. 

"Want  to  be  a  despatcher,  do  you?  What's  the 
matter  with  you?  Been  reading  railroad  stories? 
I'll  fire  any  man  on  my  division  that  reads  railroad 
stories.  Don't  be  a  chump.  You're  in  line  now 
for  the  best  station  on  the  division." 

But  compliments  only  fanned  Bud's  flame,  and 
Morris  Blood,  after  reasonable  effort  to  save  the 
boy's  life,  turned  him  over  to  Martin  Duffy. 

Now,  of  all  severe  men  on  the  West  End,  Duffy 
119 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

is  most  biting.  His  smile  is  sickly,  his  hair  dry, 
and  his  laugh  soft. 

"Despatcher,  eh?  Ha,  ha,  ha;  I  see,  Bud.  Com 
ing  down  to  show  us  how  to  do  business.  Oh,  no. 
I  understand;  that  is  all  right.  It  is  what  brought 
me  here,  Bud,  when  I  was  about  your  age  and  good 
for  something.  Well,  it  is  a  snap.  There  is  noth 
ing  in  the  railroad  life  equal  to  a  despatcher's 
trick.  If  you  should  make  a  mistake  and  get  two 
trains  together  they  will  only  fire  you.  If  you 
happen  to  kill  a  few  people  they  can't  make  any 
thing  more  than  manslaughter  out  of  it — I  know 
that  because  I've  seen  them  try  to  hang  a 
despatcher  for  a  passenger  wreck — they  can't  do 
it,  Bud,  don't  ever  believe  it.  In  this  state  ten 
years  is  the  extreme  limit  for  manslaughter,  and 
the  only  complication  is  that  if  your  train  should 
happen  to  burn  up  they  might  soak  you  an  extra 
ten  years  for  arson;  but  a  despatcher  is  usually 
handy  around  a  penitentiary  and  can  get  light 
work  in  the  office,  so  that  he's  thrown  more  with 
wife  poisoners  and  embezzlers  than  with  cut 
throats  and  hold-up  men.  Then,  too,  you  can  earn 
nearly  as  much  in  State's  prison  as  you  can  at  your 
trick.  A  despatcher's  salary  is  high,  you  know — 
seventy-five,  eighty,  and  even  a  hundred  dollars 
a  month. 

"Of  course,  there's  an  unpleasant  side  of  it.  I 
1 20 


A  Slip  on  a  Special 

don't  want  to  seem  to  draw  it  too  rosy.  I  imagine 
you've  heard  Blackburn's  story,  haven't  you — the 
lap-order  at  Rosebud?  I  helped  carry  Blackburn 
out  of  that  room" — Duffy  pointed  very  coldly 
toward  Morris  Blood's  door — "the  morning  we  put 
him  in  his  coffin.  But,  hang  it,  Bud,  a  death  like 
that  is  better  than  going  to  the  insane  asylum,  isn't 
it,  eh?  A  short  trick  and  a  merry  one,  my  boy, 
for  a  despatcher,  say  I;  no  insane  asylum  for  me." 

It  calmed  Budwiser,  as  the  boys  began  to  call 
him,  for  a  time  only.  He  renewed  his  application 
and  was  at  length  relieved  of  his  comfortable 
station  and  ordered  into  the  Wickiup  as  des- 
patcher's  assistant. 

For  a  time  every  dream  was  realized — the 
work  was  put  on  him  by  degrees,  things  ran 
smoothly,  and  his  despatcher,  Garry  O'Neill,  soon 
reported  him  all  right.  A  month  later  Bud  was 
notified  that  a  despatcher's  trick  would  shortly  be 
assigned  to  him,  and  to  the  boys  from  the  branch 
who  asked  after  him  he  sent  word  that  in  a  few 
days  he  would  be  showing  them  how  to  do  business 
on  the  main  line. 

The  chance  came  even  sooner.  O'Neill  went 
hunting  the  following  day,  overslept,  came  down 
without  supper  and  could  not  get  a  quiet  minute 
till  long  after  midnight.  Heavy  stock  trains 
crowded  down  over  the  short  line.  The  main  line, 

121 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

in  addition  to  the  regular  traffic,  had  been  pounded 
all  night  with  government  stores  and  ammunition, 
westbound.  From  the  coast  a  passenger  special, 
looked  for  in  the  afternoon,  had  just  come  into 
the  division  at  Bear  Dance.  Garry  laid  out  his 
sheet  with  the  precision  of  a  campaigner,  pro 
vided  for  everything,  and  at  three  o'clock  he  gave 
Bud  a  transfer  and  ran  down  to  get  a  cup  of  coffee. 
Bud  sat  into  the  chair  for  the  first  time  with  the  re 
sponsibility  of  a  full-fledged  despatches 

For  five  minutes  no  business  confronted  him, 
then  from  the  extreme  end  of  his  territory  Cam 
bridge  station  called  for  orders  for  an  extra,  fast 
freight,  west,  Engine  81,  and  Bud  wrote  his  first 
train  order.  He  ordered  Extra  81  to  meet  Num 
ber  50,  a  local  and  accommodation,  at  Sumter,  and 
signed  Morris  Blood's  initials  with  a  flourish. 
When  the  trains  had  gone  he  looked  over  his  sheet 
calmly  until  he  noticed,  with  fainting  horror,  that 
he  had  forgotten  Special  833,  east,  making  a  very 
fast  run  and  headed  for  Cambridge,  with  no  orders 
about  Extra  81.  Special  833  was  the  passenger 
train  from  the  coast. 

The  sheet  swam  and  the  yellow  lamp  at  his 
elbow  turned  green  and  black.  The  door  of  the 
operator's  room  opened  with  a  bang.  Bud, 
trembling,  hoped  it  might  be  O'Neill,  and  stag 
gered  to  the  archway.  It  was  only  Glover,  but 

122 


A  Slip  on  a  Special 

Glover  saw  the  boy's  face.  "What's  the  mat 
ter?" 

Bud  looked  back  into  the  room  he  was  leaving. 
Glover  stepped  through  the  railing  gate  and 
caught  the  boy  by  the  shoulder.  "What's  the 
matter,  my  lad?" 

He  shook  and  questioned,  but  from  the  dazed 
operator  he  could  get  only  one  word,  "O'Neill," 
and  stepping  to  the  hall  door  Glover  called  out 
"O'Neill!" 

It  has  been  said  that  Glover's  voice  would 
carry  in  a  mountain  storm  from  side  to  side  of 
the  Medicine  Bend  yard.  That  night  the  very 
last  rafter  in  the  Wickiup  gables  rang  with  his 
cry.  He  called  only  once,  for  O'Neill  came 
bounding  up  the  long  stairs  three  steps  at  a 
time. 

"Look  to  your  train  sheet,  Garry,"  said  Glover, 
peremptorily.  "This  boy  is  scared  to  death. 
There's  trouble  somewhere." 

He  supported  the  operator  to  a  chair,  and 
O'Neill  ran  to  the  inner  room.  The  moment  his 
eye  covered  the  order  book  he  saw  what  had  hap 
pened.  "Extra  8 1  is  against  a  passenger  special," 
exclaimed  O'Neill,  huskily,  seizing  the  key. 
"There's  the  order — Extra  81  from  Cambridge  to 
meet  Number  50  at  Sumter  and  Special  833  has 
orders  to  Cambridge,  and  nothing  against  Extra 

123 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

8 1.  If  I  can't  catch  the  freight  at  Red  Desert 
we're  in  for  it — wake  up  Morris  Blood,  quick, 
he's  in  there  asleep." 

Blood,  working  late  in  his  office,  had  rolled 
himself  in  a  blanket  on  the  lounge  in  Callahan's 
old  room,  and  unfortunately  Morris  Blood  was 
the  soundest  sleeper  on  the  division.  Glover 
called  him,  shook  him,  caught  him  by  the  arm, 
lifted  him  to  a  sitting  position,  talked  hurriedly 
to  him — he  knew  what  resource  and  power  lay 
under  the  thick  curling  hair  if  he  could  only  rouse 
the  tired  man  from  his  dreamless  sleep.  Even 
Blood's  own  efforts  to  rouse  himself  were  almost 
at  once  apparent.  His  eyes  opened,  glared  help 
lessly,  sank  back  and  closed  in  stupor.  Glover 
grew  desperate,  and  lifting  Morris  to  his  feet, 
dragged  him  half  way  across  the  dark  room. 

O'Neill,  rattling  the  key,  was  looking  on  from 
the  table  like  a  drowning  man.  "Leave  your  key 
and  steady  him  here  against  the  door-jamb, 
Garry,"  cried  Glover;  "by  the  Eternal,  I'll  wake 
him."  He  sprang  to  the  big  water-cooler,  cast 
away  the  top,  seized  the  tank  like  a  bucket,  and 
dashed  a  full  stream  of  ice-water  into  Morris 
Blood's  face. 

"Great  God,  what's  the  matter?  Who  is 
this  ?  Glover  ?  What  ?  Give  me  a  towel,  some 
body," 

124 


A  Slip  on  a  Special 

The  spell  was  broken.  Glover  explained, 
O'Neill  ran  back  to  the  key,  and  Blood  in  an 
other  moment  bent  dripping  over  the  nervous 
despatcher. 

The  superintendent's  mind  working  faster  now 
than  the  magic  current  before  him,  listened,  cast 
up,  recollected,  considered,  decided  for  and  against 
every  chance.  At  that  moment  Red  Desert  an 
swered.  No  breath  interrupted  the  faint  clicks 
that  reported  on  Extra  81.  O'Neill  looked  up  in 
agony  as  the  sounder  spelled  the  words:  "Extra  81 
went  by  at  3.05."  The  superintendent  and  the 
despatcher  looked  at  the  clock;  it  read  3.09. 

O'Neill  clutched  the  order  book,  but  Glover 
looked  at  Morris  Blood.  With  the  water  trickling 
from  his  hair  down  his  wrinkled  face,  beading  his 
mustache,  and  dripping  from  his  chin  he  stood, 
haggard  with  sleep,  leaning  over  O'Neill's 
shoulder.  A  towel  stuffed  into  his  left  hand  was 
clasped  forgotten  at  his  waist.  From  the  east 
room,  operators,  their  instruments  silenced,  were 
tiptoeing  into  the  archway.  Above  the  little  group 
at  the  table  the  clock  ticked.  O'Neill,  in  a  frenzy, 
half  rose  out  of  his  chair,  but  Morris  Blood, 
putting  his  hand  on  the  despatcher's  shoulder, 
forced  him  back. 

"They're  gone,"  cried  the  frantic  man;  "let  me 
out  of  here." 

125 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"No,  Garry." 

"They're  gone." 

"Not  yet,  Garry.  Try  Fort  Rucker  for  the 
Special." 

"There's  no  night  man  at  Fort  Rucker." 

"But  Burling,  the  day  man,  sleeps  upstairs " 

"He  goes  up  to  Bear  Dance  to  lodge." 

"This  isn't  lodge  night,"  said  Blood. 

"For  God's  sake,  how  can  you  get  him  upstairs, 
anyway?"  trembled  O'Neill. 

"On  cold  nights  he  sleeps  downstairs  by  the 
ticket-office  stove.  I  spent  a  night  with  him  once 
and  slept  on  his  cot.  If  he  is  in  the  ticket-office 
you  may  be  able  to  wake  him — he  may  be  awake. 
The  Special  can't  pass  there  for  ten  minutes  yet. 
Don't  stare  at  me.  Call  Rucker,  hard." 

O'Neill  seized  the  key  and  tried  to  sound  the 
Rucker  call.  Again  and  again  he  attempted  it 
and  sent  wild.  The  man  that  could  hold  a  hun 
dred  trains  in  his  head  without  a  slip  for  eight 
hours  at  a  stretch  sat  distracted. 

"Let  me  help  you,  Garry,"  suggested  Blood,  in 
an  undertone.  The  despatcher  turned  shaking 
from  his  chair  and  his  superintendent  slipped  be 
hind  him  into  it.  His  crippled  right  hand  glided 
instantly  over  the  key,  and  the  Rucker  call,  even, 
sharp,  and  compelling,  followed  by  the  quick, 
clear  nineteen — the  call  that  gags  and  binds  the 

126 


A  Slip  on  a  Special 

whole  division — the  despatchers'  call — clicked 
from  his  fingers. 

Persistently,  and  with  unfailing  patience,  the 
men  hovering  at  his  back,  Blood  drummed  at  the 
key  for  the  slender  chance  that  remained  of  stop 
ping  the  passenger  train.  The  trial  became 
one  of  endurance.  Like  an  incantation,  the  call 
rang  through  the  silence  of  the  room  until  it 
wracked  the  listeners,  but  the  man  at  the  key, 
quietly  wiping  his  face  and  head,  and  with  the 
towel  in  his  left  hand  mopping  out  his  collar,  never 
faltered,  never  broke,  minute  after  minute,  until 
after  a  score  of  fruitless  waits  an  answer  broke  his 
sending  with  the  "I,  I,  Ru !" 

As  the  reply  flew  from  his  fingers  Morris 
Blood's  eyes  darted  to  the  clock;  it  was  3.17. 
"Stop  Special  833,  east,  quick." 

"You've  got  them?"  asked  Glover,  from  the 
counter. 

"If  they're  not  by,"  muttered  Blood. 

"Red  light  out,"  reported  Rucker;  then  three 
dreadful  minutes  and  it  came,  "Special  833  tak 
ing  water;  O'Brien  wants  orders." 

And  the  order  went,  "Siding,  quick,  and  meet 
Extra  8 1,  west,  at  Rucker,"  and  the  superintendent 
rose  from  the  chair. 

"It's  all  over,  boys,"  said  he,  turning  to  the 
operators.  "Remember,  no  man  ever  got  to  a 

127 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

railroad  presidency  by  talking;  but  many  men 
have  by  keeping  their  mouths  shut.  Lay  Cawkins 
on  the  lounge  in  my  room.  Duffy  said  that  boy 
would  never  do." 

"What  was  Burling  doing,  Morris,"  asked 
Glover,  sitting  down  by  the  stove. 

"Ask  him,  Garry,"  suggested  Blood.  They 
waited  for  the  answer. 

"Were  you  asleep  on  your  cot?"  asked  the 
despatcher,  getting  Rucker  again. 

"If  that  fellow  woke  on  my  call,  I'll  make  a 
despatcher  of  him,"  declared  Morris  Blood,  with 
a  thrill  of  fine  pride. 

"No,"  answered  Rucker,  "I  slept  upstairs  to 
night." 

The  two  men  at  the  stove  stared  at  one  another. 
"How  did  you  hear  your  call?"  asked  the 
despatcher.  Again  their  ears  were  on  edge. 

And  Rucker  answered,  "I  always  come  down 
once  in  the  night  to  put  coal  on  the  fire." 

"Another  illusion  destroyed,"  smiled  Morris 
Blood.  "Hang  him,  I'll  promote  him,  anyway, 
for  attending  to  his  fire." 

"But  you  couldn't  do  that  again  in  a  thousand 
years,  Mr.  Blood,"  ventured  a  young  and  en 
thusiastic  operator  who  had  helped  to  lay  out  poor 
Bud  Cawkins. 

The  mountain  man  looked  at  him  coldly.  "I 
128 


A  Slip  on  a  Special 

sha'n't  want  to  do  that  again  in  a  thousand  years. 
In  the  railroad  life  it  always  comes  different,  every 
time.  Go  to  your  key." 

"I'm  glad  we  got  that  particular  train  out  of 
trouble,"  he  added,  turning  to  Glover  when  they 
were  alone. 

"What  train?" 

"That  Special  833  is  the  Brock  special.  You 
didn't  know  it?  We've  been  looking  for  them 
from  the  coast  for  two  days." 


129 


CHAPTER   XIII 

BACK   TO    THE    MOUNTAINS 

THE  sudden  appearance  of  Mr.  Brock  at 
any  time  and  at  any  point  where  he  had 
interests  would  surprise  only  those  that  did  not 
know  him.  On  the  coast  the  party  had  broken 
up,  Louise  Donner  going  into  Colorado  with 
friends,  and  Harrison  returning  to  Pittsburg. 

Planning  originally  to  recross  the  mountains  by 
a  southern  route,  and  to  give  himself  as  much  of 
a  pleasure  trip  as  he  ever  took,  Mr.  Brock  changed 
all  his  plans  at  the  last  moment — a  move  at  which 
he  was  masterly — and  wired  Bucks  to  meet  him  at 
Bear  Dance  for  the  return  trip.  Doctor  Lanning, 
moreover,  had  advised  that  Marie  spend  some 
further  time  in  the  mountains,  where  her  gain  in 
health  had  been  decided. 

Among  the  features  the  general  manager  par 
ticularly  wished  Mr.  Brock  to  see  before  leaving 
the  mountain  country  was  the  Crab  Valley  dam 
and  irrigation  canal,  and  the  second  day  after  the 
president's  special  entered  the  division  it  was  side 
tracked  at  a  way  station  near  Sleepy  Cat  for  an 

130 


Back  to  the  Mountains 

inspection  of  the  undertaking.  The  trip  to  the 
canal  was  by  stage  with  four  horses,  and  the  ladies 
had  been  asked  to  go. 

The  morning  was  so  exhilarating  and  the  ride 
so  fast  that  when  the  head  horses  dipped  over  the 
easy  divide  flanking  the  line  of  the  canal  on  the 
south,  and  the  brake  closed  on  the  lumbering 
wheels,  the  visitors  were  surprised  to  discover  al 
most  at  their  feet  a  swarming  army  of  men  and 
horses  scraping  in  the  dusty  bed  of  a  long  cut. 
There  the  heavy  work  was  to  be  seen,  and  to  give 
his  party  an  idea  of  its  magnitude,  Bucks  had 
ordered  the  stage  driven  directly  through  the  cut 
itself.  With  Mr.  Brock  he  sat  up  near  the  driver. 
Back  of  them  were  Doctor  Lanning  and  Gertrude 
Brock;  within  rode  Mrs.  Whitney  and  Marie. 

As  the  stage,  getting  down  the  high  bank, 
lurched  carefully  along  the  scraper  ways  of  the 
yellow  bed,  shovellers,  drivers,  and  water-boys 
looked  curiously  at  the  unusual  sight,  and  patient 
mules  nosed  meekly  the  alert,  nervous  horses  that 
dragged  the  stage  along  the  uneven  way. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  cut  a  more  formidable 
barrier  interposed.  A  pocket  of  gravel  on  the 
eastern  bank  had  slipped,  engulfing  a  steam  shovel, 
and  a  gang  of  men  were  busy  about  it.  On  a  level 
overlooking  the  scene,  in  corduroy  jackets  and 
broad  hats,  stood  two  engineers.  At  times  one 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

of  them  gave  directions  to  a  foreman  whose  gang 
was  digging  the  shovel  out.  His  companion,  per 
ceiving  the  approach  of  the  stage,  signalled  the 
driver  sharply,  and  the  leaders  were  swung  to  the 
right  of  the  shovellers  so  that  the  stage  was 
brought  out  on  a  level  some  distance  away. 

Bucks  first  recognized  the  taller  of  the  two 
men.  "There's  Glover,"  he  exclaimed.  "Hello!" 
he  called  across  the  canal  bed.  "I  didn't  look  for 
you  here."  Glover  lifted  his  hat  and  walked  over 
to  the  stage. 

"I  came  up  last  night  to  see  Ed  Smith  about 
running  his  flume  under  Horse  Creek  bridge. 
They  cross  us,  you  know,  in  the  canon  there,"  said 
he,  in  his  slow,  steady  way.  "Just  as  we  got  on 
the  ponies  to  ride  down,  this  slide  occurred " 

"Glad  you  couldn't  get  away.  We  want  to  see 
Ed  Smith,"  returned  Bucks,  getting  down.  The 
women  were  already  greeting  Glover,  and  avoid 
ing  Gertrude's  eye  while  he  included  her  in  his 
salutation  to  all,  he  tried  to  answer  several  ques 
tions  at  once.  Smith,  the  engineer  in  charge  of  the 
canal,  was  talking  with  Bucks  and  Mr.  Brock.  On 
top  of  the  stage  Doctor  Lanning  was  trying  to 
persuade  Gertrude  not  to  get  down;  but  she 
insisted. 

"Mr.  Glover  will  help  me,  I  am  sure,"  she  said, 
looking  directly  at  the  evading  Glover,  who  was 

132 


Back  to  the  Mountains 

absorbed  in  his  talk  with  her  sister.  "I  should 
advise  you  not  to  alight,  Miss  Brock,"  said  he, 
unable  to  ignore  her  request.  "You  will  sink  into 
this  dusty  clay " 

"I  don't  mind  that,  but  unless  you  will  give  me 
your  hand,"  she  interrupted,  putting  her  boot  on 
the  foot  rest  to  descend,  "I  shall  certainly  break 
my  neck."  When  he  promptly  advanced  she  took 
both  of  his  offered  hands  with  a  laugh  at  her  reck 
lessness  and  dropped  lightly  beside  him.  "May 
I  go  over  where  you  stood?"  she  asked  at  once. 

"I  shouldn't,"  he  ventured. 

"But  I  can't  see  what  they  are  doing."  She 
walked  capriciously  ahead,  and  Glover  reluctantly 
followed.  "Why  shouldn't  you?"  she  questioned, 
waiting  for  him  to  come  to  her  side. 

"It  isn't  safe." 

"Why  did  you  stand  there?" 

He  answered  with  entire  composure.  "What 
would  be  perfectly  safe  for  me  might  be  very 
dangerous  for  you." 

She  looked  full  at  him.  "How  truly  you 
speak." 

Yet  she  did  not  stop,  though  at  each  step  her 
feet  sunk  into  the  loosened  soil. 

"Pray,  don't  go  farther,"  said  Glover. 

"I  want  to  see  the  men  digging." 

"Then  won't  you  come  around  here?'* 
133 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"But  may  I  not  walk  over  to  that  car?" 

"This  way  is  more  passable." 

"Then  why  did  you  make  the  driver  turn  away 
from  that  side?" 

"You  have  good  eyes,  Miss  Brock." 

"Pray,  what  is  the  matter  with  that  man  lying 
behind  the  car?" 

Glover  looked  fairly  at  her  at  last.  "A  shovel 
ler  was  hurt  when  the  gravel  slipped  a  few  minutes 
ago.  When  the  warning  came  he  did  not  under 
stand  and  got  caught." 

"Oh,  let  us  get  Doctor  Lanning;  something  can 
be  done  for  him." 

"No.    It  is  too  late." 

Horror  checked  her.     "Dead?" 

"Yes.  I  did  not  want  you  to  know  this.  Your 
sister  is  easily  shocked " 

She  paused  a  moment.  "You  are  very  thought 
ful  of  Marie.  Have  you  a  sister?" 

"I  haven't.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Who  taught  you  thoughtfulness?"  she  asked, 
gravely.  He  stood  disconcerted.  "I  find  con 
sideration  common  among  Western  men,"  she  went 
on,  generalizing  prettily;  "our  men  don't  have 
it.  Does  a  life  so  rough  and  terrible  as  this  give 
men  the  consideration  that  we  expect  elsewhere 
and  do  not  find?  Ah,  that  poor  shoveller.  Isn't 
it  horrible  to  die  so?  Did  everyone  else  escape?" 

134 


Back  to  the  Mountains 

"They  are  ready  to  start,  I  think,"  he  sug 
gested,  uneasily. 

"Oh,  are  they?" 

"You  are  coming  to  see  us?"  called  Marie, 
leaning  from  the  top,  while  Glover  paused  behind 
her  sister,  when  they  had  reached  the  stage.  He 
stood  with  his  hat  in  his  hand.  The  dazzling 
sun  made  copper  of  the  swarthy  brown  of  his 
lower  face  and  brought  out  the  white  of  his  fore 
head  where  the  hair  crisped  wet  in  the  heat  of  the 
morning.  Gertrude  Brock,  after  she  had  gained 
her  seat  with  his  help,  looked  down  while  he 
talked;  looked  at  the  top  of  his  head,  and  listen 
ing  vaguely  to  Marie,  noted  his  long,  bony  hand 
as  it  clung  to  the  window  strap — the  hand  of  the 
most  audacious  man  she  had  ever  met  in  her  life — 
who  had  made  an  avowal  to  her  on  the  observa 
tion  platform  of  her  father's  own  car — and  she 
mused  at  the  explosion  that  would  have  followed 
had  she  ever  breathed  a  syllable  of  the  circum 
stance  to  her  own  fiery  papa. 

But  she  had  told  no  one — least  of  all,  the  young 
man  that  had  asked  her  before  she  left  Pittsburg 
to  marry  him  and  was  now  writing  her  every  other 
day — Allen  Harrison.  Indeed,  what  could  be 
more  ridiculously  embarrassing  than  to  be  as 
sailed  so  unexpectedly?  She  had  no  mind  to  make 
herself  anyone's  laughing-stock  by  speaking  of  it, 

135 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

One  thing,  however,  she  had  vaguely  determined 
— since  Glover  had  frightened  her  she  would 
retaliate  at  least  a  little  before  she  returned  to  the 
quiet  of  Fifth  Avenue. 

Marie  was  still  talking  to  him.  "Why  haven't 
you  heard?  I  thought  sister  would  have  told  you. 
The  doctor  says  I  gained  faster  here  than  any 
where  between  the  two  oceans,  and  we  are  all  to 
spend  six  weeks  up  at  Glen  Tarn  Springs.  Papa 
is  going  East  and  coming  back  after  us,  and  we 
shall  expect  you  to  come  to  the  Springs  very 
often." 

The  stage  was  starting.  Gertrude  faced  back 
ward  as  she  sat.  She  could  see  Glover's  saluta 
tion,  and  she  waved  a  glove.  He  was  as  utterly 
confused  as  she  could  desire.  She  saw  him  rejoin 
his  companion  engineer  near  where  lay  the 
shoveller  with  the  covered  face,  and  the  thought 
of  the  terrible  accident  depressed  her.  As  she  last 
saw  Glover  he  was  pointing  at  the  faulty  bank, 
and  she  knew  that  the  two  men  were  planning 
again  for  the  safety  of  the  men. 

About  Glen  Tarn,  now  quite  the  best  known  of 
the  Northern  mountain  resorts,  there  is  no  month 
like  October:  no  sun  like  the  October  sun,  and  no 
frost  like  the  first  that  stills  the  aspen.  More- 
Over,  the  travel  is  done,  the  parks  are  deserted, 

136 


Back  to  the  Mountains 

the  mountains  robing  for  winter.  In  October,  the 
horse,  starting,  shrinks  under  his  rider,  for  the 
lion,  always  moving,  never  seen,  is  following  the 
game  into  the  valleys,  leaving  the  grizzly  to  beat 
his  stubborn  retreat  from  the  snow  line  alone. 

Starting  from  the  big  hotel  in  a  new  direction 
every  day  the  Pittsburgers  explored  the  valleys 
and  the  canons,  for  the  lake  and  the  springs  nestle 
in  the  Pilot  Mountains  and  the  scenery  is  every 
where  new.  Mount  Pilot  itself  rises  loftily  to  the 
north,  and  from  its  sides  may  be  seen  every  peak  in 
the  range. 

One  day,  for  a  novelty,  the  whole  party  went 
down  to  Medicine  Bend,  nominally  on  a  shopping 
expedition,  but  really  on  a  lark.  Medicine  Bend 
is  the  only  town  within  a  day's  distance  of  Glen 
Tarn  Springs  where  there  are  shops;  and  though 
the  shopping  usually  ended  in  a  chorus  of  jokes, 
the  trip  on  the  main  line  trains,  which  they  caught 
at  Sleepy  Cat,  was  always  worth  while,  and  the 
dining-car,  with  an  elaborate  supper  in  returning, 
was  a  change  from  the  hotel  table. 

Sometimes  Gertrude  and  Mrs.  Whitney  went 
together  to  the  headquarters  town — Gertrude  ex 
pecting  always  to  encounter  Glover.  When  some 
time  had  passed,  her  failure  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
him  piqued  her.  One  day  with  her  aunt  going 
down  they  met  Conductor  O'Brien.  He  was 

137 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

more  than  ready  to  answer  questions,  and  fortu 
nately  for  the  reserve  that  Gertrude  loved  to  main 
tain,  Mrs.  Whitney  remarked  they  had  not  seen 
Mr.  Glover  for  some  time. 

"No  one  has  seen  much  of  him  for  two  weeks; 
he  had  a  little  bad  luck,"  explained  Conductor 
O'Brien. 

"Indeed?" 

"Three  weeks  ago  he  was  up  at  Crab  Valley. 
They  had  a  cave-in  on  the  irrigation  canal  and 
two  or  three  men  got  caught  under  a  coal  plat 
form  near  the  steam  shovel.  Glover  was  close  by 
when  it  happened.  He  got  his  back  under  the 
timbers  until  they  could  get  line  men  out  and 
broke  two  of  his  ribs.  He  went  home  that  night 
without  knowing  of  it,  but  a  couple  of  days  after 
ward  he  sneezed  and  found  it  out  right  away. 
Since  then  he's  been  doing  his  work  in  a  plaster 
cast." 

Their  return  train  that  day  was  several  hours 
behind  time  and  Gertrude  and  her  aunt  were  com 
pelled  to  go  up  late  to  the  American  House  for 
supper.  A  hotel  supper  at  Medicine  Bend  was 
naturally  the  occasion  of  some  merriment,  and  the 
two  diverted  themselves  with  ordering  a  wild  as 
sortment  of  dishes.  The  supper  hour  had  passed, 
the  dining-room  had  been  closed,  and  they  were 
sitting  at  their  dessert  when  a  late  comer  entered 

138 


Back  to  the  Mountains 

the  room.  Gertrude  touched  her  aunt's  arm — 
Glover  was  passing. 

Mrs.  Whitney's  first  impulse  was  to  halt  the 
silent  engineer  with  one  of  her  imperative  words. 
To  think  of  him  was  to  think  only  of  his  easily 
approachable  manner;  but  to  see  him  was  indis 
tinctly  to  recall  something  of  a  dignity  of  sim 
plicity.  She  contented  herself  with  a  whisper. 
"He  doesn't  see  us." 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  room  Glover  sat  down. 
Almost  at  once  Gertrude  became  conscious  of  the 
silence.  She  handled  her  fork  noiselessly,  and  the 
interval  before  a  waitress  pushed  open  the  swing 
ing  kitchen  door  to  take  his  order  seemed  long. 
The  Eastern  girl  watched  narrowly  until  the 
waitress  flounced  out,  and  Glover,  shifting  his 
knife  and  his  fork  and  his  glass  of  water,  spread 
his  limp  napkin  across  his  lap,  and  resting  his 
elbow  on  the  table  supported  his  head  on  his 
hand. 

The  surroundings  had  never  looked  so  bare  as 
then,  and  a  sense  of  the  loneliness  of  the  shabby 
furnishings  filled  her.  The  ghastliness  of  the  arc- 
lights,  the  forbidding  whiteness  of  the  walls,  and 
the  penetrating  odors  of  the  kitchen  seemed  all 
brought  out  by  the  presence  of  a  man  alone. 

Mrs.  Whitney  continued  to  jest,  but  Gertrude 
responded  mechanically.  Glover  was  eating  his 

139 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

supper  when  the  two  rose  from  their  table,  and 
Mrs.  Whitney  led  the  way  toward  him. 

"So,  this  is  the  invalid,"  she  said,  halting  ab 
ruptly  before  him.  "Mrs.  Whitney!"  exclaimed 
Glover,  trying  hastily  to  rise  as  he  caught  sight  of 
Gertrude. 

"Will  you  please  be  seated?"  commanded  Mrs. 
Whitney.  "I  insist " 

He  sat  down.  "We  want  only  to  remind  you," 
she  went  on,  "that  we  hate  to  be  completely  ignored 
by  the  engineering  department  even  when  not  offi 
cially  in  its  charge." 

"But,  Mrs.  Whitney,  I  can't  sit  if  you  are  to 
stand,"  he  answered,  greeting  Gertrude  and  her 
aunt  together. 

"You  are  an  invalid;  be  seated.  Nothing  but 
toast?"  objected  Mrs.  Whitney,  drawing  out  a 
chair  and  sitting  down.  "Do  you  expect  to  mend 
broken  ribs  on  toast?" 

"I'm  well  mended,  thank  you.  Do  I  look  like 
an  invalid?" 

"But  we  heard  you  were  seriously  hurt."  He 
laughed.  "And  want  to  suggest  Glen  Tarn  as  a 
health  resort." 

"Unfortunately,  the  doctor  has  discharged  me. 
In  fact,  a  broken  rib  doesn't  entitle  a  man  to  a 
lay-off.  I  hope  your  sister  continues  to  improve?" 
he  added,  looking  at  Gertrude. 

140 


Back  to  the  Mountains 

"She  does,  thank  you.  Mrs.  Whitney  and  I 
have  been  talking  of  the  day  we  met  you  at  the 
irrigation — "  he  did  not  help  her  to  a  word — 
"works,"  she  continued,  feeling  the  slight  con 
fusion  of  the  pause.  "You" — he  looked  at  her 
so  calmly  that  it  was  still  confusing — "you  were 
hurt  before  we  met  you  and  we  must  have  seemed 
unconcerned  under  the  circumstances.  We  speak 
often  at  Glen  Tarn  of  the  delightful  weeks  we 
spent  in  your  mountain  wilds  last  summer,"  she 
added. 

Glover  thanked  her,  but  appeared  absorbed  in 
Mrs.  Whitney's  attempt  to  disengage  her  eye 
glasses  from  their  holder,  and  Gertrude  made  no 
further  effort  to  break  his  restraint.  Mrs.  Whit 
ney  talked,  and  Glover  talked,  but  Gertrude  re 
served  her  bolt  until  just  before  their  train  started. 

He  had  gone  with  them,  and  they  were  standing 
on  the  platform  before  the  vestibule  steps  of  their 
Pullman  car.  As  the  last  moment  approached  it 
was  not  hard  to  see  that  Glover  was  torn  between 
Mrs.  Whitney's  rapid-fire  talk  and  a  desire  to 
hear  something  from  Gertrude. 

She  waited  till  the  train  was  moving  before  she 
loosed  her  shaft.  Mrs.  Whitney  had  ascended  the 
steps,  the  porter  was  impatient,  Glover  nervous. 
Gertrude  turned  with  a  smile  and  a  totally  be 
wildering  cordiality  on  the  unfortunate  man. 

141 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"My  sister,"  her  glove  was  on  the  hand-rail,  "sends 
some  sort  of  a  message  to  Mr.  Glover  every  time 
I  come  to  Medicine  Bend — but  the  gist  of  them 
all  is  that  she  would  be  very" — the  train  was 
moving  and  they  were  stepping  along  with  it — 
"glad  to  see  you  at  Glen  Tarn  before " 

"Gertrude,"  screamed  Mrs.  Whitney,  "will 
you  get  on?" 

Glover's  eyes  were  growing  like  target-lights. 

" — before  we  go  East,"  continued  Gertrude. 
"So  should  I,"  she  added,  throwing  in  the  last 
three  words  most  inexplicably,  as  she  kept  step  with 
the  engineer.  But  she  had  not  miscalculated  the 
effect. 

"Are  you  to  go  soon?"  he  exclaimed.  The 
porter  followed  them  helplessly  with  his  stool. 
Mrs.  Whitney  wrung  her  hands,  and  Gertrude 
attempted  to  reach  the  lower  tread  of  the  car  step. 

Someone  very  decidedly  helped  her,  and  she 
laughed  and  rose  from  his  hands  as  lightly  as  to  a 
stirrup.  When  she  collected  herself,  after  the 
pleasure  of  the  spring,  Mrs.  Whitney  was  scold 
ing  her  for  her  carelessness;  but  she  was  waving 
a  glove  from  the  vestibule  at  a  big  hat  still  lifted 
in  the  dusk  of  the  platform. 


142 


CHAPTER   XIV 

GLEN    TARN 

OCTOBER  had  not  yet  gone  when  they  met 
again  in  a  Medicine  Bend  street.  Glover, 
leaving  the  Wickiup  with  Morris  Blood,  ran  into 
Gertrude  Brock  coming  out  of  an  Indian  curio- 
shop  with  Doctor  Lanning.  She  began  at  once  to 
talk  to  Glover.  "Marie  was  regretting,  yesterday, 
that  you  had  not  yet  found  your  way  to  Glen 
Tarn." 

The  sun  beat  intensely  on  her  black  hat  and 
her  suit  of  gray.  In  her  gloved  hand  she  twirled 
the  tip  of  her  open  sunshade  on  the  pavement 
with  deliberation  and  he  shifted  his  footing 
helplessly.  His  heavy  face  never  looked  homelier 
than  in  sunshine,  and  she  gazed  at  him  with  a 
calmness  that  was  staggering.  He  muttered  some 
thing  about  having  been  unusually  busy. 

"We,  too,  have  been,"  smiled  Gertrude,  "mak 
ing  final  preparations  for  our  departure." 

"Do  you  go  so  soon?"  he  exclaimed. 

"We  are  waiting  only  papa's  return  now  to  say 
good-by  to  the  mountains."  The  way  in  which 

143 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

she  put  it  stirred  him  as  she  had  intended  it  should 
— uncomfortably. 

"I  should  certainly  want  to  say  good-by  to  your 
sister,"  muttered  Glover.  But  in  saying  even  so 
little  his  naturally  unsteady  voice  broke  one  extra 
tone,  and  when  this  happened  it  angered  him. 

"You  are  not  timid,  are  you?"  continued  Ger 
trude. 

"I  think  I  am  something  of  a  coward." 

"Then  you  shouldn't  venture,"  she  laughed, 
"Marie  has  a  scolding  for  you." 

Morris  Blood  had  been  telling  Doctor  Lan- 
ning  that  he  and  Glover  were  to  go  over  to  Sleepy 
Cat  on  the  train  the  doctor  and  Gertrude  were 
to  take  back  to  Glen  Tarn.  The  two  railroad  men 
were  just  starting  across  the  yard  to  inspect  an 
engine,  the  1018,  which  was  to  pull  the  limited 
train  that  day  for  the  first  time.  It  was  a  new 
monster,  planned  by  the  modest  little  Manxman, 
Robert  Crosby,  for  the  first  district  run.  "Help 
her  over  the  pass,"  Crosby  had  whispered — the 
superintendent  of  motive  power  hardly  ever  spoke 
aloud — "and  she'll  buck  a  headwind  like  a  canvas- 
back.  Give  her  decent  weather,  and  on  the  Sleepy 
Cat  trail  she'll  run  away  with  six,  yes,  eight  Pull 
mans." 

Doctor  Lanning  was  curious  to  look  over  the 
new  machine,  the  first  to  signalize  the  new  owner- 

144 


Glen  Tarn 

ship  of  the  line,  and  Gertrude  was  quite  ready  to 
accept  Blood's  invitation  to  go  also. 

With  the  doctor  under  the  superintendent's 
wing,  Gertrude,  piloted  by  Glover,  crossed  the 
network  of  tracks,  asking  railroad  questions  at 
every  step. 

Reaching  the  engine,  she  wanted  to  get  up  into 
the  cab,  to  say  that,  before  leaving  the  mountains 
forever,  she  had  been  once  inside  an  engine. 
Glover,  after  some  delay,  procured  a  stepladder 
from  the  "rip"  track,  and  with  this  the  daughter 
of  the  magnate  made  an  unusual  but  easy  ascent 
to  the  cab.  More  than  that,  she  made  herself  a 
heroine  to  every  yardman  in  sight,  and  strength 
ened  the  new  administration  incalculably. 

She  ignored  a  conventional  offer  of  waste  from 
the  man  in  charge  of  the  cab,  who  she  was  sur 
prised  to  learn,  after  some  sympathetic  remarks 
on  her  part,  was  not  the  engineman  at  all.  He  was 
a  man  that  had  something  to  do  with  horses.  And 
when  she  suggested  it  would  be  quite  an  event  for 
so  big  an  engine  to  go  over  the  mountains  for  the 
first  time,  the  hostler  told  her  it  had  already  been 
over  a  good  many  times. 

But  Mr.  Blood  had  an  easy  explanation  for 
every  confusing  statement,  and  did  not  falter  even 
when  Miss  Brock  wanted  to  start  the  1018  her 
self.  He  objected  that  she  would  soil  her  gloves, 

H5 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

but  she  held  them  up  in  derision ;  plainly,  they  had 
already  suffered.  Some  difficulty  then  arose  be 
cause  she  could  not  begin  to  reach  the  throttle. 
Again,  with  much  chaffing,  the  stepladder  was 
brought  into  play,  and  steadied  on  it  by  Morris 
Blood,  and  coached  by  the  hostler,  the  heiress  to 
many  millions  grasped  the  throttle,  unlatched  it 
and  pulled  at  the  lever  vigorously  with  both  hands. 

The  packing  was  new,  but  Gertrude  persisted, 
the  bar  yielded,  and  to  her  great  fright  things  be 
gan  to  hiss.  The  engine  moved  like  a  roaring 
leviathan,  and  the  author  of  the  mischief 
screamed,  tried  to  stop  it,  and  being  helpless  ap 
pealed  to  the  unshaven  man  to  help  her.  Glover, 
however,  was  nearest  and  shut  off. 

It  was  all  very  exciting,  and  when  on  the  turn 
table  Gertrude  was  told  by  the  doctor  that  her 
suit  was  completely  ruined  she  merely  held  up  both 
her  blackened  gloves,  laughing,  as  Glover  came 
up;  and  caught  up  her  begrimed  skirt  and  joined 
him  with  a  flush  on  her  cheeks  as  bright  as  a  danger 
signal. 

Some  fervor  of  the  magical  day,  under  those 
skies  where  autumn  itself  is  only  a  heavier  wine 
than  spring,  something  of  the  deep  breath  of  the 
mountain  scene  seemed  to  infect  her. 

She  walked  at  Glover's  side.  She  recalled  with 
the  slightest  pretty  mirth  his  fetching  the  ladder 

146 


Glen  Tarn 

— the  way  in  which  he  had  crossed  a  flat  car  by 
planting  the  ladder  alongside,  mounting,  pulling 
the  steps  after  him,  and  descending  on  them  to  the 
other  side. 

In  her  humor  she  faintly  suggested  his  awk 
ward  competence  in  doing  things,  and  he,  too, 
laughed.  As  they  crossed  track  after  track  she 
would  place  the  toe  of  her  boot  on  a  rail  glittering 
in  the  sun,  and  rising,  balance  an  instant  to  catch 
an  answer  from  him  before  going  on.  There  was 
no  haste  in  their  manner.  They  had  crossed  the 
railroad  yard,  strangers;  they  recrossed  it  quite 
other.  Their  steps  they  retraced,  but  not  their 
path.  The  path  that  led  them  that  day  together 
to  the  engine  was  never  to  be  retraced. 

To  worry  Crosby's  new  locomotive,  Blood's 
car  had  been  ordered  added  to  the  westbound 
limited,  but  neither  Glover  nor  Blood  spent  any 
time  in  the  private  car.  The  afternoon  went  in 
the  Pullman  with  Gertrude  Brock  and  Doctor  Lan- 
ning.  At  dinner  Glover  did  the  ordering  because 
he  had  earlier  planned  to  celebrate  the  promotion, 
already  known,  of  Morris  Blood  to  the  general 
superintendency. 

If  there  were  few  lines  along  which  the  con 
struction  engineer  could  shine  he  at  least  appeared 
to  advantage  as  the  host  of  his  friend,  since 

147 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

the  ordering  of  a  dinner  is  peculiarly  a  gentleman's 
matter,  and  even  the  modest  complement  of  wine 
which  the  occasion  demanded,  Glover  toasted  in 
a  way  that  revealed  the  boyish  loyalty  between  the 
two  men. 

The  spirit  of  it  was  so  contagious  that  neither 
the  doctor  nor  Gertrude  made  scruple  of  adding 
their  congratulations.  But  the  moments  were  fleet 
ing  and  Glover,  next  day,  could  recall  them  up  to 
one  scene  only.  When  Gertrude  found  she  could 
not,  even  after  a  brave  effort,  ride  with  her  back 
to  the  engine,  and  accepted  so  graciously  Mr. 
Blood's  offer  to  change  seats,  it  brought  her  beside 
Glover;  after  that  his  memory  failed. 

In  the  morning  he  felt  miserably  overdone,  as 
at  Sleepy  Cat  a  man  might  after  running  a  pre 
liminary  half  way  to  heaven.  Moreover,  when 
they  parted  he  had,  he  remembered,  undertaken 
to  dine  the  following  evening  at  the  Springs. 

When  he  entered  the  apartments  of  the  Pitts- 
burg    party    at    six    o'clock,    Mrs.    Whitney    re 
proached  him  for  his  absence  during  their  month 
at  Glen  Tarn,  and  in  Mrs.  Whitney's  manner,  per-' 
emptorily. 

"I'm  sure  we've  missed  seeing  everything  worth 
while  about  here,"  she  complained.  Her  annoy 
ance  put  Glover  in  good  humor.  Marie  met  him 
with  a  gentler  reproach.  "And  we  go  next  week !" 

148 


Glen  Tarn 

"But  you've  seen  everything,  I  know,"  he  pro 
tested,  answering  both  of  them. 

"Whether  we  have  or  not,  Mr.  Glover  should 
be  penalized  for  his  indifference,"  suggested 
Marie.  Doctor  Lanning  came  in.  "Compel  him 
to  show  us  something  we  haven't  seen  around 
the  lake,"  suggested  the  doctor.  "That  he  can 
not  do;  then  we  have  only  to  decide  on  his  pun 
ishment." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  want  to  be  on  that  jury,"  said  Ger 
trude,  entering  softly  in  black. 

"But  is  this  Pittsburg  justice?"  objected  Glover, 
rising  at  the  spell  of  her  eyes  to  the  raillery. 
"Shouldn't  I  have  a  try  at  the  scenery  end  of  the 
proposition  before  sentence  is  demanded?" 

"Justify  quickly,  then,"  threatened  Marie,  as 
they  started  for  the  dining-room;  "we  are  not 
trifling." 

"Of  course  you've  been  here  a  month,"  began 
Glover,  when  the  party  were  seated. 

"Yes." 

"Out  every  day." 

"Yes." 

"The  guides  have  all  your  money?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I  stake  everything  on  a  single 
throw " 

"A  professional,"  interjected  Doctor  Lanning. 
149 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"Only  desperate  gamesters  stake  all  on  a  single 
throw,"  said  Gertrude  warningly. 

"I  am  a  desperate  gamester,"  said  Glover,  "and 
now  for  it.  Have  you  seen  the  Devil's  Gap?" 

A  chorus  of  derision  answered. 

"The  very  first  day — the  very  first  trip !"  cried 
Mrs.  Whitney,  raising  her  tone  one  note  above 
every  other  protest. 

"And  you  staked  all  on  so  wretched  a  chance?" 
exclaimed  Gertrude.  "Why,  Devil's  Gap  is  the 
stock  feature  of  every  guide,  good,  bad,  and  in 
different,  at  the  Springs." 

"I  have  staked  more  at  heavier  odds,"  returned 
Glover,  taking  the  storm  calmly,  "and  won.  Have 
you  made  but  one  trip,  when  you  first  came,  do 
you  say?" 

"The  very  first  day." 

"Then  you  haven't  seen  Devil's  Gap.  To  see 
it,"  he  continued,  "you  must  see  it  at  night." 

"At  night?" 

"With  the  moon  rising  over  the  Spanish  Sinks." 

"Ah,  how  that  sounds!"  exclaimed  Marie. 

"To-night  we  have  full  moon,"  added  Glover. 
"Don't  say  too  lightly  you  have  seen  Devil's  Gap, 
for  that  is  given  to  but  few  tourists." 

"Do  not  call  us  tourists,"  objected  Gertrude. 

"And  from  where  did  you  see  Devil's  Gap— 
The  Pilot?" 


Glen  Tarn 

"No,  from  across  the  Tarn." 

If  the  expression  of  Glover's  face,  returning 
somewhat  the  ridicule  heaped  on  him,  was  in 
tended  to  pique  the  interest  of  the  sightseers  it 
was  effective.  He  was  restored,  provisionally,  to 
favor;  his  suggestion  that  after  dinner  they  take 
horses  for  the  ride  up  Pilot  Mountain  to  where 
the  Gap  could  be  seen  by  moonlight  was  eagerly 
adopted,  and  Mrs.  Whitney's  objection  to  dress 
ing  again  was  put  down.  Marie,  fearing  the  hard 
ship,  demurred,  but  Glover  woke  to  so  lively  inter 
est,  and  promised  the  trip  should  be  so  easy  that 
when  she  consented  to  go  he  made  it  his  affair  to 
attend  directly  to  her  comfort  and  safety. 

He  summoned  one  particular  liveryman,  not  a 
favorite  at  the  fashionable  hotel,  and  to  him  gave 
especial  injunctions  about  the  horses.  The  girths 
Glover  himself  went  over  at  starting,  and  in  the 
riding  he  kept  near  Marie. 

Lighted  by  the  stars,  they  left  the  hotel  in  the 
early  evening.  "How  are  you  to  find  your  way, 
Mr.  Glover?"  asked  Marie,  as  they  threaded  the 
path  he  led  her  into  after  they  had  reached  the 
mountain.  "Is  this  the  road  we  came  on?" 

"I  could  climb  Pilot  blindfolded,  I  reckon. 
When  we  came  in  here  I  ran  surveys  all  around 
the  old  fellow,  switchbacks  and  everything.  The 
line  is  a  Chinese  puzzle  about  here  for  ten  miles. 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

The  path  you're  on  now  is  an  old  Indian  trail  out 
of  Devil's  Gap.  The  guides  don't  use  it  because 
it  is  too  long.  The  Gap  is  a  ten-dollar  trip,  in  any 
case,  and  naturally  they  make  it  the  shortest  way." 

For  thirty  minutes  they  rode  in  darkness,  then 
leaving  a  sharp  defile  they  emerged  on  a  plateau. 

Across  the  Sinks  the  moon  was  rising  full  and 
into  a  clear  sky.  To  the  right  twinkled  the  lights 
of  Glen  Tarn,  and  below  them  yawned  the  un 
speakable  wrench  in  the  granite  shoulders  of  the 
Pilot  range  called  Devil's  Gap.  Out  of  its  ap 
palling  darkness  projected  miles  of  silvered  spurs 
tipped  like  grinning  teeth  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

"There  are  a  good  many  Devil's  Gaps  in  the 
Rockies,"  said  Glover,  after  the  silence  had  been 
broken;  "but,  I  imagine,  if  the  devil  condescends 
to  acknowledge  any  he  wouldn't  disclaim  this." 

Gertrude  stood  beside  her  sister.  "You  are 
quite  right,"  she  admitted.  "We  have  spent  our 
month  here  and  missed  the  only  overpowering 
spectacle.  This  is  Dante." 

"Indeed  it  is,"  he  assented,  eagerly.  "I  must 
tell  you.  The  first  time  I  got  into  the  Gap  with 
a  locating  party  I  had  a  volume  of  Dante  in  my 
pack.  It  is  an  unfortunate  trait  of  mine  that  in 
reading  I  am  compelled  to  chart  the  topography 
of  a  story  as  I  go  along.  In  the  'Inferno'  I 
could  never  get  head  or  tail  of  the  topography. 

152 


Glen  Tarn 

One  night  we  camped  on  this  very  ledge.  In  the 
night  the  horses  roused  me.  When  I  opened  the 
tent  fly  the  moon  was  up,  about  where  it  is  now.  I 
stood  till  I  nearly  froze,  looking — but  I  thought 
after  that  I  could  chart  the  'Inferno.'  If  it 
weren't  so  dry,  or  if  we  were  going  to  stay  all 
night,  I  should  have  a  camp-fire;  but  it  wouldn't 
do,  and  before  you  get  cold  we  must  start 
back. 

"See,"  he  pointed,  far  down  on  the  left.  "Can 
you  make  out  that  speck  of  light?  It  is  the  head 
light  of  a  freight  train  crawling  up  the  range  from 
Sleepy  Cat.  When  the  weather  is  right  you  can 
see  the  white  head  of  Sleepy  Cat  Mountain  from 
this  spot.  That  train  will  wind  around  in  sight 
of  this  knob  for  an  hour,  climbing  to  the  mining 
camps." 

Doctor  Lanning  called  to  Marie.  Gertrude 
stood  with  Glover. 

"Is  that  the  desert  of  the  Spanish  Sinks?"  she 
asked,  looking  into  the  stream  of  the  moon. 

"Yes." 

"Is  that  where  you  were  lost  two  days?" 

"My  horse  got  away.  Have  you  hurt  your 
hand?" 

She  was  holding  her  right  hand  in  her  left.  "I 
tore  my  glove  on  a  thorn,  coming  up.  It  is  not 
much." 

153 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"Is  it  bleeding?" 

"I  don't  know;  can  you  see?" 

She  drew  down  the  glove  gauntlet  and  held  her 
hand  up.  If  his  breath  caught  he  did  not  betray 
it,  but  while  he  touched  her  she  could  very  plainly 
feel  his  hand  tremble;  yet  for  that  matter  his 
hand,  she  knew,  trembled  frequently.  He  struck 
a  match.  It  was  no  part  of  her  audacity  to  betray 
herself,  and  she  stepped  directly  between  the 
others  and  the  little  blaze  and  looked  into  his  face 
while  he  inspected  her  wrist.  "Can  you  see?" 

"It  is  scratched  badly,  but  not  bleeding,"  he 
answered. 

"It  hurts." 

"Very  likely;  the  wounds  that  hurt  most  don't 
always  bleed,"  he  said,  evenly.  "Let  us  go." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said;  "not  quite  yet.  This  is  un 
utterable.  I  love  this." 

"Your  aunt,  I  fear,  is  not  interested.  She  is 
complaining  of  the  cold.  I  can't  light  a  fire;  the 
mountain  is  all  timber  below " 

"Aunt  Jane  would  complain  in  heaven,  but  that 
wouldn't  signify  she  didn't  appreciate  it.  Why 
are  you  so  quickly  put  out?  It  isn't  like  you  to 
be  out  of  humor."  She  drew  on  her  glove  slowly. 
"I  wish  you  had  this  wrist " 

"I  wish  to  God  I  had."  The  sudden  words 
frightened  her.  She  showed  her  displeasure  in 

154 


Glen  Tarn 

half  turning  away,  then  she  resolutely  faced  him. 
"I  am  not  going  to  quarrel  with  you  even  if  you 
make  fun  of  me " 

"Fun  of  you?" 

"Even  if  you  put  an  unfair  sense  on  what  I 
say." 

"I  meant  what  I  said  in  every  sense,  either  to 
take  the  pain  or — the  other.  I  couldn't  make  fun 
of  you.  Do  you  never  make  fun  of  me,  Miss 
Brock?" 

"No,  Mr.  Glover,  I  do  not.  If  you  would  be 
sensible  we  should  do  very  well.  You  have  been 
so  kind,  and  we  are  to  leave  the  mountains  so  soon, 
we  ought  to  be  good  friends." 

"Will  you  tell  me  one  thing,  Miss  Brock — are 
you  engaged?" 

"I  don't  think  you  should  ask,  Mr.  Glover. 
But  I  am  not  engaged — unless  that  in  a  sense  I 
am,"  she  added,  doubtfully. 

"What  sense,  please?" 

"That  I  have  given  no  answer.  Are  you  still 
complaining  of  the  cold,  Aunt  Jane?"  she  cried, 
in  desperation,  turning  toward  Mrs.  Whitney. 
"I  find  it  quite  warm  over  here.  Mr.  Glover  and 
I  are  still  watching  the  freight  train.  Come  over, 
do." 

Going  back,  Glover  rode  near  to  Gertrude,  who 
had  grown  restless  and  imperious.  To  hunt  this 

155 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

queer  mountain-lion  was  recreation,  but  to  have 
the  mountain-lion  hunt  her  was  disquieting. 

She  complained  again  of  her  wounded  hand, 
but  refused  all  suggestions,  and  gave  him  no  credit 
for  riding  between  her  and  the  thorny  trees 
through  the  canon.  It  was  midnight  when  the 
party  reached  the  hotel,  and  when  Gertrude 
stepped  across  the  parlor  to  the  water-pitcher, 
Glover  followed.  "I  must  thank  you  for  your 
thought  fulness  of  my  little  sister  to-night,"  she 
was  saying. 

He  was  so  intent  that  he  forgot  to  reply. 

"May  I  ask  one  question?"  he  said. 

"That  depends." 

"When  you  make  answer  may  I  know  what  it 
is?" 

"Indeed  you  may  not." 


156 


.  CHAPTER    XV 

NOVEMBER 

THEY  walked  back  to  the  parlors.  Doctor 
Lanning  and  Marie  were  picking  up  the 
rackets  at  the  ping-pong  table.  Mrs.  Whitney 
had  gone  into  the  office  for  the  evening  mail. 

Passing  the  piano,  Gertrude  sat  down  and 
swung  around  toward  the  keys.  Glover  took 
music  from  the  table.  Unwilling  to  admit  a  trace 
of  the  unusual  in  the  beating  of  her  heart,  or  in 
her  deeper  breathing,  she  could  not  entirely  con 
trol  either;  there  was  something  too  fascinating 
in  defying  the  light  that  she  now  knew  glowed  in 
the  dull  eyes  at  her  side.  She  avoided  looking; 
enough  that  the  fire  was  there  without  directly 
exposing  her  own  eyes  to  it.  She  drummed  with 
one  hand,  then  with  both,  at  a  gavotte  on  the  rack 
before  her. 

Overcome  merely  at  watching  her  fingers  stretch 
upon  the  keys  he  leaned  against  the  piano. 

"Why  did  you  ask  me  to  come  up?" 

As  he  muttered  the  words  she  picked  again  and 
again  with  her  right  hand  at  a  loving  little  phrase 

157 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

in  the  gavotte.  When  it  went  precisely  right  she 
spoke  in  the  same  tone,  still  caressing  the  phrase,, 
never  looking  up.  "Are  you  sorry  you  came?" 

"No;  I'd  rather  be  trod  under  foot  than  not 
be  near  you." 

"May  we  not  be  friends  without  either  of  us 
being  martyred?  I  shall  be  afraid  ever  to  ask  you 
to  do  anything  again.  Was  I  wrong  in — assum 
ing  it  would  give  you  as  well  as  all  of  us  pleasure 
to  dine  together  this  evening?" 

"No.  You  know  better  than  that.  I  am  in 
sanely  presumptuous,  I  know  it.  Let  me  ask  one 
last  favor " 

The  gavotte  rippled  under  her  fingers.     "No." 

He  turned  away.  She  swung  on  the  stool 
toward  him  and  looked  very  kindly  and  frankly 
up.  "You  have  been  too  courteous  to  all  of  us 
for  that.  Ask  as  many  favors  as  you  like,  Mr. 
Glover,"  she  murmured,  "but  not,  if  you  please, 
a  last  one." 

"It  shall  be  the  last,  Miss  Brock.     I  only " 

"You  only  what?" 

"Will  you  let  me  know  what  day  you  are  go 
ing,  so  I  may  say  good-by?" 

"Certainly  I  will.  You  will  be  at  Medicine 
Bend  in  any  case,  won't  you?" 

"No.  I  have  fifteen  hundred  miles  to  cover 
next  week." 

158 


November 

"What  for — oh,  it  isn't  any  of  my  business,  is 
it?" 

"Looking  over  the  snowsheds.  Will  you  tele 
graph  me?" 

"Where?" 

"At  the  Wickiup;  it  will  reach  me." 

"You  might  have  to  come  too  far.  We  shall 
start  in  a  few  days." 

"Will  you  telegraph  me?" 

"If  you  wish  me  to." 

Eight  days  later,  when  suspense  had  grown 
sullen  and  Glover  had  parted  with  all  hope  of 
hearing  from  her,  he  heard.  In  the  depths  of  the 
Heart  River  range  her  message  reached  him. 

Every  day  Giddings,  hundreds  of  miles  away 
at  the  Wickiup,  had  had  his  route-list.  Giddings, 
who  would  have  died  for  the  engineer,  waited, 
every  point  in  the  repeating  covered,  day  after 
day  for  a  Glen  Tarn  message  that  Glover  ex 
pected.  For  four  days  Glover  had  hung  like  a 
dog  around  the  nearer  stretches  of  the  division. 
But  the  season  was  advanced,  he  dared  not  dele 
gate  the  last  vital  inspection  of  the  year,  and  bit 
terly  he  retreated  from  shed  to  shed  until  he  was 
buried  in  the  barren  wastes  of  the  eighth  district. 

The  day  in  the  Heart  River  mountains  is  the 
thin,  gray  day  of  the  alkali  and  the  sage.  On  Fri- 

159 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

day  afternoon  Glover's  car  lay  sidetracked  at  the 
east  end  of  the  Nine  Mile  shed  waiting  for  a 
limited  train  to  pass.  The  train  was  late  and  the 
sun  was  dropping  into  an  ashen  strip  of  wind 
clouds  that  hung  cold  as  shrouds  to  the  north  and 
west  when  the  gray-powdered  engine  whistled  for 
the  siding. 

Motionless  beside  the  switch  Glover  saw  down 
the  gloom  of  the  shed  the  shoes  wringing  fire  from 
the  Pullman  wheels,  and  wondered  why  they  were 
stopping.  The  conductor  from  the  open  vesti 
bule  waved  to  him  as  the  train  slowed  and  ran  for 
ward  with  the  message. 

"Giddings  wired  me  to  wait  for  your  answer, 
Mr.  Glover,"  said  the  conductor. 

Glover  was  reading  the  telegram: 

"I  may  start  Saturday. 

"G.  B." 

There  was  one  chance  to  make  it;  that  was  to 
take  the  limited  train  then  and  there.  Bidding 
the  conductor  wait  he  hastened  to  his  car,  called 
for  his  gripsack,  gave  his  assistant  a  volley  of 
orders,  and  boarded  a  Pullman.  Not  the  pre 
ferred  stock  of  the  whole  system  would  have 
availed  at  that  moment  to  induce  an  inspection  of 
Nine  Mile  shed. 

160 


November 

There  were  men  that  he  knew  in  the  sleepers, 
but  he  shunned  acquaintance  and  walked  on  till 
he  found  an  empty  section  into  which  he  could 
throw  himself  and  feast  undisturbed  on  his  tele 
gram.  He  studied  it  anew,  tried  to  consider 
coolly  whether  her  message  meant  anything  or 
nothing,  and  gloated  over  the  magic  of  the  letters 
that  made  her  initials :  and  when  he  slept,  the  word 
last  in  his  heart  was  Gertrude. 

In  the  morning  he  breakfasted  late  in  the  sun 
shine  of  the  diner,  passed  his  friends  again  and 
secluded  himself  in  his  section.  Never  before  had 
she  said  "I" ;  always  it  had  been  "we."  With  eyes 
half-closed  upon  the  window  he  repeated  the  words 
and  spoke  her  name  after  them,  because  every  time 
the  speaking  drugged  him  like  lotus,  until,  yield 
ing  again  to  the  exhaustion  of  the  week's  work  and 
strain,  he  fell  asleep. 

When  he  woke  the  car  was  dark;  the  train  con 
ductor,  Sid  Francis,  was  sitting  beside  him,  laugh 
ing. 

"You're  sleepy  to-day,  Mr.  Glover." 

"Sid,  where  are  we?"  asked  Glover,  looking  at 
his  watch;  it  was  four  o'clock. 

"Grouse  Creek." 

"Are  we  that  late?    What's  the  matter?" 

The  conductor  nodded  toward  the  window. 
"Look  there." 

161 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

The  sky  was  gray  with  a  driving  haze;  a  thin 
sweep  of  snow  flying  in  the  sand  of  the  storm  was 
whitening  the  sagebrush. 

Glover,  waking  wide,  turned  to  the  window. 
"Where's  the  wind,  Sid?" 

"Northwest." 

"What's  the  thermometer?" 

"Thirty  at  Creston;  sixty  when  we  left  MacDill 
at  noon." 

"Everything  running?" 

"They've  been  getting  the  freights  into  division 
since  noon.  There'll  be  something  doing  to-night 
on  the  range.  They  sent  stock  warnings  every 
where  this  morning,  but  they  can't  begin  to  protect 
the  stock  between  here  and  Medicine  in  one  day. 
Pulling  hard,  isn't  she?  We're  not  making  up 
anything." 

The  porter  was  lighting  the  lamps.  While  they 
talked  it  had  grown  quite  dark.  Losing  time  every 
mile  of  the  way,  the  train,  frost-crusted  to  the  eye 
lids,  got  into  Sleepy  Cat  at  half-past  six  o'clock; 
four  hours  late. 

The  crowded  yard,  as  they  pulled  through  it, 
showed  the  tie-up  of  the  day's  traffic.  Long  lines 
of  freight  cars  filled  the  trackage,  and  overloaded 
switch  engines  struggled  with  ever-growing  bur 
dens  to  avert  the  inevitable  blockade  of  the  night. 
Glover's  anxiety,  as  he  left  the  train  at  the  station, 

162 


November 

was  as  to  whether  he  could  catch  anything  on  the 
Glen  Tarn  branch  to  take  him  up  to  the  Springs 
that  night,  for  there  he  was  resolved  to  get  before 
morning  if  he  had  to  take  an  engine  for  the  run. 

As  he  started  up  the  narrow  hall  leading  to  the 
telegraph  office  he  heard  the  rustle  of  skirts  above. 
Someone  was  descending  the  stairway,  and  with 
his  face  in  the  light  he  halted. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Glover." 

"Why — Miss  Brock!"     It  was  Gertrude. 

"What  in  the  world — "  he  began.  His  broken 
voice  was  very  natural,  she  thought,  but  there  was 
amazement  in  his  utterance.  He  noticed  there 
was  little  color  in  her  face;  the  deep  boa  of  fur 
nestling  about  her  throat  might  account  for  that. 

"What  a  chance  that  I  should  meet  you  1"  she 
exclaimed,  her  back  hard  against  the  side  wall,  for 
the  hall  was  narrow  and  brought  them  face  to 
face.  She  spoke  on.  "Did  you  get  my ?" 

"Did  I?"  he  echoed  slowly;  "I  have  trav 
elled  every  minute  since  yesterday  afternoon  to  get 
here " 

Her  uneasy  laugh  interrupted  him.  "It  was 
hardly  worth  while,  all  that." 

" — and  I  was  just  going  up  to  find  out  about 
getting  to  Glen  Tarn." 

"Glen  Tarn!  I  left  Glen  Tarn  this  afternoon 
all  alone  to  go  to  Medicine  Bend — papa  is  there, 

163 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

did  you  know?  He  came  yesterday  with  all  the 
directors.  Our  car  was  attached  for  me  to  the 
afternoon  train  coming  down."  She  was  certainly 
wrought  up,  he  thought.  "But  when  we  reached 
here  the  train  I  should  have  taken  for  Medicine 
Bend  had  not  come " 

"It  is  here  now." 

"Thank  heaven,  is  it?" 

"I  came  in  on  it." 

"Then  I  can  start  at  last!  I  have  been  so 
nervous.  Is  this  our  train?  They  said  our  car 
couldn't  be  attached  to  this  train,  and  that  I  should 
have  to  go  down  in  one  of  the  sleepers.  I  don't 
understand  it  at  all.  Will  you  have  the  car  sent 
back  to  Glen  Tarn  in  the  morning,  Mr.  Glover? 
And  would  you  get  my  handbag?  I  was  nearly 
run  over  a  while  ago  by  some  engine  or  other.  I 
mustn't  miss  this  train " 

"Never  fear,  never  fear,"  said  Glover. 

"But  I  cannot  miss  it.  Be  very,  very  sure,  won't 
you?" 

"Indeed,  I  shall.  The  train  won't  start  for 
some  time  yet.  First  let  me  take  you  to  your  car 
and  then  make  some  inquiries.  Is  no  one  down 
with  you?" 

"No  one;  I  am  alone." 

"Alone?" 

"I  expected  to  have  been  with  papa  by  this  time, 
164 


"What  a  chance  that  I   should  meet   you!"   she    exclaimed. 


November 

It  takes  so  little  time  to  run  down,  you  know, 
and  I  telegraphed  papa  I  should  come  on  to  meet 
him.  Isn't  it  most  disagreeable  weather?" 

Glover  laughed  as  he  shielded  her  from  the 
wind.  "I  suppose  that's  a  woman's  name  for 
it." 

The  car,  coupled  to  a  steampipe,  stood  just  east 
of  the  station,  and  Glover,  helping  her  into  it, 
went  back  after  a  moment  to  the  telegraph  office. 
It  seemed  a  long  time  that  he  was  gone,  and  he 
returned  covered  with  snow.  She  advanced 
quickly  to  him  in  her  wraps.  "Are  they  ready?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "I'm  afraid  you  can't  get 
to  Medicine  to-night." 

"Oh,  but  I  must." 

"They  have  abandoned  Number  Six." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"The  train  will  be  held  here  to-night  on  account 
of  the  storm.  There  will  be  no  train  of  any  kind 
down  before  morning;  not  then  if  this  keeps  up." 

"Is  there  danger  of  a  blockade?" 

"There  is  a  blockade." 

"Then  I  must  get  to  papa  to-night."  She  spoke 
with  disconcerting  firmness. 

"May  I  suggest?"  he  asked. 

"Certainly." 

"Would  it  not  be  infinitely  better  to  go  back  to 
the  Springs?" 

165 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"No,  that  would  be  infinitely  worse." 

"It  would  be  comparatively  easy — an  engine  to 
pull  your  car  up  on  a  special  order?" 

"I  will  not  go  back  to  the  Springs  to-night,  and 
I  will  go  to  Medicine  .Bend,"  she  exclaimed,  ap 
prehensively.  "May  I  not  have  a  special  there  as 
well  as  to  the  Springs?" 

Until  that  moment  he  had  never  seen  anything 
of  her  father  in  her;  but  her  father  spoke  in  every 
feature;  she  was  a  Brock. 

Glover  looked  grave.  "You  may  have,  I  am 
sure,  every  facility  the  division  offers.  I  make 
only  the  point,"  he  said,  gently,  "that  it  would  be 
hazardous  to  attempt  to  get  to  the  Bend  to-night. 
I  have  just  come  from  the  telegraph  office.  In 
the  district  I  left  this  morning  the  wires  are  all 
down  to-night.  That  is  where  the  storm  is  com 
ing  from.  There  is  a  lull  here  just  now,  but " 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Glover,  believe  me,  very 
sincerely  for  your  solicitude.  I  have  no  choice 
but  to  go,  and  if  I  must,  the  sooner  the  better, 
surely.  Is  it  possible  for  you  to  make  arrange 
ments  for  me?" 

"It  is  possible,  yes,"  he  answered,  guardedly. 

"But  you  hesitate." 

"It  is  a  terrible  night." 

"I  like  snow,  Mr.  Glover." 

"The  danger  to-night  is  the  wind." 
166 


November 

"Are  you  afraid  of  the  wind?"  There  was  a 
touch  of  ridicule  in  her  half-laughing  tone. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  am  afraid  of  the  wind." 

"You  are  jesting." 

She  saw  that  he  flushed  just  at  the  eyes;  but  he 
spoke  still  gently. 

"You  feel  that  you  must  go?" 

"I  must." 

"Then  I  will  get  orders  at  once." 


167 


CHAPTER   XVI 

NIGHT 

GLOVER  looked  at  his  watch;  it  was  Gid- 
dings'  trick  at  Medicine  Bend,  and  he 
made  little  doubt  of  getting  what  he  asked  for. 
He  walked  to  the  eating-house  and  from  there 
directly  across  to  the  roundhouse,  and  started  a 
hurry  call  for  the  night  foreman.  He  found  him 
at  a  desk  talking  with  Paddy  McGraw,  the  engi 
neer  that  was  to  have  taken  out  Number  Six. 

"Paddy,"  said  Glover,  udo  you  want  to  take 
me  to  Medicine  to-night?" 

"They've  just  cancelled  Number  Six." 

"I  know  it." 

"You  don't  have  to  go  to-night,  do  you?" 

"Yes,  with  Mr.  Brock's  car.  This  isn't  as  bad 
as  the  night  you  and  I  and  Jack  Moore  bucked 
snow  at  Point  of  Rocks,"  said  Glover,  signifi 
cantly.  "Do  you  remember  carrying  me  from  the 
number  seven  culvert  clean  back  to  the  station 
after  the  steampipe  broke?" 

"You  bet  I  do,  and  I  never  thought  you'd  see 
again  after  the  way  your  eyes  were  cooked  that 

168 


Night 

night.  Well,  of  course,  if  you  want  to  go  to-night, 
it's  go,  Mr.  Glover.  You  know  what  you're  about, 
but  I'd  never  look  to  see  you  going  out  for  fun  a 
night  like  this." 

"I  can't  help  it.  Yet  I  wouldn't  want  any  man 
to  go  out  with  me  to-night  unwillingly,  Paddy." 

"Why,  that's  nothing.  You  got  me  my  first 
run  on  this  division.  I'd  pull  you  to  hell  if  you 
said  so." 

Glover  turned  to  the  night  foreman.  "What's 
the  best  engine  in  the  house?" 

"There's  the  1018  with  steam  and  a  plough." 

Glover  started.     "TheioiS?" 

"She  was  to  pull  Six."  The  mountain  man 
picked  up  the  telephone,  and  getting  the  operators, 
sent  a  rush  message  to  Giddings.  Leaving  final 
instructions  with  the  two  men  he  returned  to  the 
telegraph  office.  When  Giddings'  protest  about 
ordering  a  train  out  on  such  a  night  came,  Glover, 
who  expected  it,  choked  it  back — assuming  all 
responsibility — gave  no  explanations  and  waited. 
When  the  orders  came  he  inspected  them  himself 
and  returned  to  the  car.  Gertrude,  in  the  car 
alone,  was  drinking  coffee  from  a  hotel  tray  on  the 
card  table.  "It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  send  this 
in,"  she  said,  rising  cordially.  "I  had  forgotten 
all  about  dinner.  Have  you  succeeded?" 

"Yes.    Could  you  eat  what  they  sent?" 
169 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"Pray  look.  I  have  left  absolutely  nothing  and 
I  am  very  grateful.  Do  I  not  seem  so?"  she 
added,  searchingly.  "I  want  to  because  I  am." 

He  smiled  at  her  earnestness.  Two  little  chairs 
were  drawn  up  at  the  table,  and  facing  each  other 
they  sat  down  while  Gertrude  finished  her  coffee 
and  made  Glover  take  a  sandwich. 

When  the  train  conductor  came  in  ten  minutes 
later  Glover  talked  with  him.  While  the  men 
spoke  Gertrude  noticed  how  Glover  overran  the 
dainty  chair  she  had  provided.  She  scrutinized 
his  rough-weather  garb,  the  heavy  hunting  boots, 
the  stout  reefer  buttoned  high,  and  the  leather 
cap  crushed  now  with  his  gloves  in  his  hand.  She 
had  been  asking  him  where  he  got  the  cap,  and  a 
moment  before,  while  her  attention  wandered,  he 
had  told  her  the  story  of  a  company  of  Russian 
noblemen  and  engineers  from  Vladivostok,  who, 
during  the  summer,  had  been  his  guests,  nominally 
on  a  bear  hunt,  though  they  knew  better  than  to 
hunt  bears  in  summer.  It  was  really  to  pick  up 
points  on  American  railroad  construction.  He 
might  go,  he  thought,  the  following  spring  to 
Siberia  himself,  perhaps  to  stay — this  man  that 
feared  the  wind — he  had  had  a  good  offer.  The 
cap  was  a  present. 

The  two  men  went  out  and  she  was  left  alone. 
A  flagman,  hat  in  hand,  passed  through  the  car. 

170 


Night 

The  shock  of  the  engine  coupler  striking  the 
buffer  hardly  disturbed  her  reverie;  for  her  the 
night  meant  too  much. 

Glover  was  with  the  operators  giving  final  in 
structions  to  Giddings  for  ploughs  to  meet  them 
without  fail  at  Point  of  Rocks.  Hastening  from 
the  office  he  looked  again  at  the  barometer.  It 
promised  badly  and  the  thermometer  stood  at  ten 
degrees  above  zero. 

He  had  made  his  way  through  the  falling  snow 
to  where  they  were  coupling  the  engine  to  the  car, 
watched  narrowly,  and  going  forward  spoke  to 
the  engineer.  When  he  re-entered  the  car  it  was 
moving  slowly  out  of  the  yard. 

Gertrude,  with  a  smile,  put  aside  her  book.  "I 
am  so  glad,"  she  said,  looking  at  her  watch.  "I 
hope  we  shall  get  there  by  eleven  o'clock;  we 
should,  should  we  not,  Mr.  Glover?" 

"It's  a  poor  night  for  making  a  schedule,"  was 
all  he  said.  The  arcs  of  the  long  yard  threw  white 
and  swiftly  passing  beams  of  light  through  the 
windows,  and  the  warmth  within  belied  the  menace 
outside. 

At  the  rear  end  of  the  car  the  flagman  worked 
with  one  of  the  tail-lights  that  burned  badly,  and 
the  conductor  watched  him.  Gertrude  laid  aside 
her  furs  and  threw  open  her  jacket.  Her  hat  she 
kept  on,  and  sitting  in  a  deep  chair  told  Glover 

171 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

of  her  father's  arrival  from  the  East  on  Wednes 
day  and  explained  how  she  had  set  her  heart  on 
surprising  him  that  evening  at  Medicine  Bend. 
"Where  are  we  now?"  she  asked,  as  the  rumble 
of  the  whirling  trucks  deepened. 

"Entering  Sleepy  Cat  Canon,  the  Rat 
River " 

"Oh,  I  remember  this.  I  ride  on  the  platform 
almost  every  time  I  come  through  here  so  I  may 
see  where  you  split  the  mountain.  And  every 
time  I  see  it  I  ask  myself  the  same  question.  How 
came  he  ever  to  think  of  that?" 

It  needed  even  hardly  so  much  of  an  effort  to  lull 
her  companion's  uneasiness.  He  was  a  man  with 
no  concern  at  best  for  danger,  except  as  to  the 
business  view  of  it,  and  when  personally  concerned 
in  the  hazard  his  scruples  were  never  deep.  Not 
before  had  he  seen  or  known  Gertrude  Brock,  for 
from  that  moment  she  gave  herself  to  bewilder 
ment  and  charm. 

The  great  engine  pulling  them  made  so  little  of 
its  load  that  they  could  afford  to  forget  the  night; 
indeed,  Gertrude  gave  him  no  moments  to  reflect. 
From  the  quick  play  of  their  talk  at  the  table  she 
led  him  to  the  piano.  When,  sitting  down,  she 
drew  off  her  gloves.  She  drew  them  off  lazily. 
When  he  reminded  her  that  she  still  had  on  her 
jacket  she  did  not  look  up,  but  leaning  forward 

172 


Night 


she  studied  the  page  of  a  song  on  the  rack,  running 
the  air  with  her  right  hand,  while  she  slowly  ex 
tended  her  left  arm  toward  him  and  let  him  draw 
the  tight  sleeve  over  her  wrist  and  from  her 
shoulder.  Then  his  attempt  to  relieve  her  of  the 
second  sleeve  she  wholly  ignored,  slipping  it 
lightly  off  and  pursuing  the  song  with  her  left 
hand  while  she  let  the  jacket  fall  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor.  By  the  time  Glover  had  picked  it  up  and 
she  had  frowned  at  him  she  might  safely  have 
asked  him,  had  the  fancy  struck  her,  to  head  the 
engine  for  the  peak  of  Sleepy  Cat  Mountain. 

Half-way  through  a  teasing  Polish  dance  she 
stopped  and  asked  suddenly  whether  he  had  had 
any  supper  besides  the  sandwich;  and  refusing  to 
receive  assurances  forthwith  abandoned  the  piano, 
rummaged  the  staterooms  and  came  back  bearing 
in  one  hand  a  very  large  box  of  candy  and  in  the 
other  a  banjo.  She  wanted  to  hear  the  darky  tunes 
he  had  strummed  at  the  desert  campfire,  and 
making  him  eat  of  the  chocolates,  picked  mean 
time  at  the  banjo  herself. 

He  was  so  hungry  that  unconsciously  he  de 
spatched  one  entire  layer  of  the  box  while  she 
talked.  She  laughed  heartily  at  his  appetite,  and 
at  his  solicitation  began  tasting  the  sweetmeats 
herself.  She  led  him  to  ask  where  the  box  had 
come  from  and  refused  to  answer  more  than  to 

173 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

wonder,  as  she  discarded  the  tongs  and  proffered 
him  a  bonbon  from  her  fingers,  whether  possibly 
she  was  not  having  more  pleasure  in  disposing  of 
the  contents  than  the  donor  of  the  box  had  in 
tended.  Changing  the  subject  capriciously  she  re 
called  the  night  in  the  car  that  he  had  assisted 
in  Louise  Bonner's  charade,  and  his  absurdly 
effective  pirouetting  in  a  corner  behind  the  cur 
tain  where  Louise  and  he  thought  no  one  saw 
them. 

"And,  by  the  way,"  she  added,  "you  never  told 
me  whether  your  stenographer  finally  came  that 
day  you  tried  to  put  me  at  work." 

Glover  hung  his  head. 

"Did  she?" 

"Yes." 

"What  is  she  like?" 

He  laughed  and  was  about  to  reply  when  the 
train  conductor  coming  forward  touched  him  on 
the  shoulder  and  spoke.  Gertrude  could  not  hear 
what  he  said,  but  Glover  turned  his  head  and 
straightened  in  his  chair.  "I  can't  smell  any 
thing,"  he  said,  presently.  With  the  conductor  he 
walked  to  the  hind  end  of  the  car,  opened  the  door, 
and  the  three  men  went  out  on  the  platform. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Gertrude,  when  Glover 
came  back. 

"One  of  the  journals  in  the  rear  truck  is  heat- 
174 


Night 


ing.  It  is  curious,'  he  mused;  "as  many  times  as 
I've  ridden  in  this  car  I've  never  known  a  box  to 
run  hot  till  to-night — just  when  we  don't  want  it 
to." 

He  drew  down  the  slack  of  the  bell  cord,  pulled 
it  twice  firmly  and  listened.  Two  freezing  pipes 
from  the  engine  answered ;  they  sounded  cold.  A 
stop  was  made  and  Glover,  followed  by  the  train 
men,  went  outside.  Gertrude  walking  back  saw 
them  in  the  driving  snow  beneath  the  window. 
Their  lamps  burned  bluishly  dim.  From  the  jour 
nal  box  rose  a  whipping  column  of  black  smoke  ex 
panding,  when  water  was  got  on  the  hot  steel,  into 
a  blinding  explosion  of  white  vapor  that  the  storm 
snatched  away  in  rolling  clouds.  There  was  run 
ning  to  and  from  the  engine  and  the  delay  was 
considerable,  but  they  succeeded  at  last  in  rigging 
a  small  tank  above  the  wheel  so  that  a  stream  of 
water  should  run  into  the  box. 

The  men  re-entered  with  their  faces  stung  by  the 
cold,  the  engine  hoarsely  signalled  and  the  car 
started.  Glover  made  little  of  the  incident,  but 
Gertrude  observed  some  preoccupation  in  his 
manner.  He  consulted  frequently  his  watch.  Once 
when  he  was  putting  it  back  she  asked  to  see  it. 
His  watch  was  the  only  thing  of  real  value  he  had 
and  he  was  pleased  to  show  it.  It  contained  a 
portrait  of  his  mother,  and  Gertrude,  to  her  sur- 

175 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

prise  and  delight,  found  it.  She  made  him  answer 
question  after  question,  asked  him  to  let  her  take 
the  watch  from  the  chain  and  studied  the  girlish 
face  of  this  man's  mother  until  she  noticed  its  out 
lines  growing  dim  and  looked  impatiently  up  at 
the  deck  burner :  the  gas  was  freezing  in  the  stor 
age  tanks. 

Glover  walked  to  the  rear;  the  journal  they  told 
him  was  running  hot  again.  The  engineer  had 
asked  not  to  be  stopped  till  they  reached  Soda 
Buttes,  where  he  should  have  to  take  water.  When 
he  finally  slowed  for  the  station  the  box  was 
ablaze. 

The  men  hastening  out  found  their  drip-tank 
full  of  ice:  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  fresh 
brasses,  and  Glover  getting  down  in  the  snow  set 
the  jack  with  his  own  hands  so  it  should  be  set 
right.  The  conductor  passed  him  a  bar,  but  Ger 
trude  could  not  see;  she  could  only  hear  the  ring 
of  the  frosty  steel.  Then  with  a  scream  the  safety 
valve  of  the  engine  popped  and  the  wind  tossed 
the  deafening  roar  in  and  out  of  the  car,  now  half 
dark.  Stunned  by  the  uproar  and  disturbed  by 
the  failing  light  she  left  her  chair,  and  going  over 
sat  down  at  the  window  beneath  which  Glover 
was  working;  some  instinct  made  her  seek  him. 
When  the  car  door  opened,  the  flagman  entered 
with  both  hands  filled  with  snow. 

176 


Night 

"Are  you  ready  to  start?"  asked  Gertrude.  He 
shook  his  head  and  bending  over  a  leather  chair 
rubbed  the  snow  vigorously  between  his  fingers. 

"Oh,  are  you  hurt?" 

"I  froze  my  fingers  and  Mr.  Glover  ordered 
me  in,"  said  the  boy.  Gertrude  noticed  for  the 
first  time  the  wind  and  listened;  standing  still  the 
car  caught  the  full  sweep  and  it  rang  in  her  ears 
softly,  a  far,  lonely  sound. 

While  she  listened  the  lights  of  the  car  died 
wholly  out,  but  the  jargon  of  noises  from  the  truck 
kept  away  some  of  the  loneliness.  She  knew  he 
would  soon  come  and  when  the  sounds  ceased  she 
waited  for  him  at  the  door  and  opened  it  hastily 
for  him.  He  looked  storm-beaten  as  he  held  his 
lantern  up  with  a  laugh.  Then  he  examined  the 
flagman's  hand,  followed  Gertrude  forward  and 
placed  the  lantern  on  the  table  between  them,  his 
face  glowing  above  the  hooded  light.  They  were 
running  again,  very  fast,  and  the  rapid  whipping 
of  the  trucks  was  resonant  with  snow. 

"How  far  now  to  Medicine?"  she  smiled. 

"We  are  about  half-way.  From  here  to  Point 
of  Rocks  we  follow  an  Indian  trail." 

The  car  was  no  longer  warm.  The  darkness, 
too,  made  Gertrude  restless  and  they  searched  the 
storage  closets  vainly  for  candles.  When  they  sat 
down  again  they  could  hear  the  panting  of  the 

177 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

engine.  The  exhaust  had  the  thinness  of  extreme 
cold.  They  were  winding  on  heavy  grades  among 
the  Buttes  of  the  Castle  Creek  country,  and  when 
the  engineer  whistled  for  Castle  station  the  big 
chime  of  the  engine  had  shrunk  to  a  baby's  treble; 
it  was  growing  very  cold. 

As  the  car  slowed,  Glover  caught  an  odor  of 
heated  oil,  and  going  back  found  the  coddled 
journal  smoking  again,  and  like  an  honest  man 
cursed  it  heartily,  then  he  went  forward  to  find  out 
what  the  stop  was  for.  He  came  back  after  some 
moments.  Gertrude  was  waiting  at  the  door  for 
him.  "What  did  you  learn?" 

He  held  his  lantern  up  to  light  her  face  and 
answered  her  question  with  another. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  stand  a  ride  in  the 
engine  cab?" 

"Surely,  if  necessary.    Why?" 

"The  engine  isn't  steaming  overly  well.  When 
we  leave  this  point  we  get  the  full  wind  across  the 
Sweetgrass  plains.  There's  no  fit  place  at  this 
station  for  you — no  place,  in  fact — or  I  should 
strongly  advise  staying  here.  But  if  you  stayed  in 
the  car  there's  no  certainty  we  could  heat  it 
another  hour.  If  we  sidetrack  the  car  here  with 
the  conductor  and  flagman  they  can  stay  with  the 
operator  and  you  and  I  can  take  the  cab  into  Medi 
cine  Bend." 

178 


Night 


"Whatever  you  think  best." 

"I  hate  to  suggest  it." 

"It  is  my  fault.    Shall  we  go  now?" 

"As  soon  as  we  sidetrack  the  car.  Meantime" — 
he  spoke  earnestly — "remember  it  may  mean  life — • 
bundle  yourself  up  in  everything  warm  you  can 
find." 

"But  you?" 

"I  am  used  to  it." 


179 


CHAPTER   XVII 

STORM 

MUFFLED  in  wraps  Gertrude  stood  at  the 
front  door  waiting  to  leave  the  car.  It 
had  been  set  in  on  the  siding,  and  the  engine,  un 
coupled,  had  disappeared,  but  she  could  see  shift 
ing  lights  moving  near.  One,  the  bright,  green- 
hooded  light,  her  eyes  followed.  She  watched  the 
furious  snow  drive  and  sting  hornet-like  at  its  rays 
as  it  rose  or  swung  or  circled  from  a  long  arm. 
Her  straining  eyes  had  watched  its  coming  and 
going  every  moment  since  he  left  her.  When 
his  figure  vanished  her  breath  followed  it,  and 
when  the  green  light  flickered  again  her  breath 
returned. 

The  men  were  endeavoring  to  reset  the  switch 
for  the  main  line  contact.  Three  lights  were 
grouped  close  about  the  stand,  and  after  the  rod 
had  been  thrown,  Glover  went  down  on  his  knee 
feeling  for  the  points  under  the  snow  with  hi", 
hands  before  he  could  signal  the  engine  back;  one 
thing  he  could  not  afford,  a  derail.  She  saw  him 
rise  again  and  saw,  dimly,  both  his  arms  spread 
upward  and  outward.  She  saw  the  tiny  lantern 

180 


Storm 

swing  a  cautious  incantation,  and  presently,  like  a 
monster  apparition,  called  out  of  the  storm  the 
frosted  outlines  of  the  tender  loomed  from  the 
darkness.  The  engine  was  being  brought  to  where 
this  dainty  girl  passenger  could  step  with  least 
exposure  from  her  vestibule  to  its  cab  gangway. 
With  exquisite  skill  the  unwieldy  monster,  forced 
in  spite  of  night  and  stress  to  do  its  master's  bid 
ding,  was  being  placed  for  its  extraordinary  guest. 

Picking  like  a  trained  beast  its  backward  steps, 
with  cautious  strength  the  throbbing  machine, 
storm-crusted  and  storm-beaten,  hissing  its  steady 
defiance  at  its  enemy,  halted,  and  Gertrude  was 
lighted  and  handed  across  the  short  path,  passed  up 
inside  the  canvas  door  by  Glover  and  helped  to  the 
fireman's  box. 

Out  in  the  storm  she  heard  from  the  conductor 
and  flagman  rough  shouts  of  good  luck.  Glover 
nodded  to  the  engineer,  the  fireman  yelled  good- 
by,  slammed  back  the  furnace  door,  and  a  blinding 
flash  of  white  heat,  for  an  instant,  took  Gertrude's 
senses ;  when  the  fireman  slammed  the  door  to  they 
were  moving  softly,  the  wind  was  singing  at  the 
footboard  sash,  and  the  injectors  were  loading  the 
boiler  for  the  work  ahead. 

A  berth  blanket  fastened  between  Gertrude  and 
the  side  window  and  a  cushion  on  the  box  made 
her  comfortable.  Under  her  feet  lay  a  second 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

blanket.  She  had  come  in  with  a  smile,  but  the 
gloom  of  the  cab  gave  no  light  to  a  smile.  Only 
the  gauge  faces  high  above  her  showed  the  flash 
of  the  bull's-eyes,  and  the  multitude  of  sounds 
overawed  her. 

On  the  opposite  side  she  could  see  the  engineer, 
padded  snug  in  a  blouse,  his  head  bullet-tight 
under  a  cap,  the  long  visor  hanging  beak-like  over 
his  nose.  His  chin  was  swathed  in  a  roll  of  neck 
cloth,  and  his  eyes,  whether  he  hooked  the  long 
lever  at  his  side  or  stretched  both  his  arms  to  latch 
the  throttle,  she  could  never  see.  Then,  or  when 
his  hand  fell  back  to  the  handle  of  the  air,  as  it 
always  fell,  his  profile  was  silent.  If  she  tried  to 
catch  his  face  he  was  looking  always,  statue-like, 
ahead. 

Standing  behind  him,  Glover,  with  a  hand  on  a 
roof-brace,  steadied  himself.  In  spite  of  the  com 
forts  he  had  arranged  for  her,  Gertrude,  in  her 
corner,  felt  a  lonely  sense  of  being  in  the  way.  In 
her  father's  car  there  was  never  lacking  the  waiting 
deference  of  trainmen;  in  the  cab  the  men  did  not 
even  see  her. 

In  the  seclusion  of  the  car  a  storm  hardly  made 
itself  felt;  in  the  cab  she  seemed  under  the  open 
sky.  The  wind  buffeted  the  glass  at  her  side, 
rattled  in  its  teeth  the  door  in  front  of  her,  drank 
the  steaming  flame  from  the  stack  monstrously, 

182 


Storm 

and  dashed  the  cinders  upon  the  thin  roof  above 
her  head  with  terrifying  force.  With  the  gather 
ing  speed  of  the  engine  the  cracking  exhaust  ran 
into  a  confusing  din  that  deafened  her,  and  she 
was  shaken  and  jolted.  The  plunging  of  the  cab 
grew  violent,  and  with  every  lurch  her  cushion 
shifted  alarmingly.  She  resented  Glover's  plac 
ing  himself  so  far  away,  and  could  not  see  that  he 
even  looked  toward  her.  The  furnace  door 
slammed  until  she  thought  the  fireman  must  have 
thrown  in  coal  enough  to  last  till  morning,  but  un 
able  to  realize  the  danger  of  overloading  the  fire 
he  stopped  only  long  enough  to  turn  various  valve- 
wheels  about  her  feet,  and  with  his  back  bent  re 
sumed  his  hammering  and  shovelling  as  if  his  very 
salvation  were  at  stake:  so,  indeed,  that  night  it 
was. 

Gertrude  watched  his  unremitting  toil;  his  shifty 
balancing  on  his  footing  with  ever-growing  amaze 
ment,  but  the  others  gave  it  not  the  slightest  heed. 
The  engineer  looked  only  ahead,  and  Glover's  face 
behind  him  never  turned.  Then  Gertrude  for  the 
first  time  looked  through  her  own  sash  out  into  the 
storm. 

Strain  as  she  would,  her  vision  could  pierce  to 
nothing  beyond  the  ceaseless  sweep  of  the  thin, 
wild  snow  across  the  brilliant  flow  of  the  headlight. 
She  looked  into  the  white  whirl  until  her  eyes 

183 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

tired,  then  back  to  the  cab,  at  the  flying  shovel  of 
the  fireman,  the  peaked  cap  of  the  muffled  engineer 
— at  Glover  behind  him,  his  hand  resting  now  on 
the  reverse  lever  hooked  high  at  his  elbow.  But 
some  fascination  drew  her  eyes  always  back  to 
that  bright  circle  in  the  front — to  the  sinister  snow 
retreating  always  and  always  advancing;  flowing 
always  into  the  headlight  and  out,  and  above  it 
darkening  into  the  fire  that  streamed  from  the 
dripping  stack.  A  sudden  lurch  nearly  threw  her 
from  her  seat,  and  she  gave  a  little  scream  as  the 
engine  righted.  Glover  beside  her  like  thought 
caught  her  outstretched  hand.  "A  curve,"  he  said, 
bending  apologetically  toward  her  ear  as  she  re 
seated  herself.  "Is  it  very  trying?" 

"No,  except  that  I  am  in  continual  fear  of  fall 
ing  from  my  seat — or  having  to  embrace  the  un 
fortunate  fireman.  Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  putting 
her  wrist  on  Glover's  arm  as  the  cab  jerked. 

"If  I  could  keep  out  of  the  fireman's  way,  I 
should  stand  here,"  he  said. 

"There  is  room  on  the  seat  here,  I  think,  if  you 
have  not  wholly  deserted  me.  Oh !" 

"I  didn't  mean  to  desert  you.  It  is  because  the 
snow  is  packing  harder  that  you  are  rocked  more; 
the  cab  has  really  been  riding  very  smoothly." 

She  moved  forward  on  the  box.  "Are  you  go 
ing  to  sit  down?" 

184 


Storm 

'Thank  you." 

"Oh,  don't  thank  me.  I  shall  feel  ever  so  much 
safer  if  you  will."  He  tried  to  edge  up  into  the 
corner  behind  her,  pushing  the  heavy  cushion  up 
to  support  her  back.  As  he  did  so  she  turned  im 
patiently,  but  he  could  not  catch  what  she  said. 
"Throw  it  away,"  she  repeated.  He  chucked  the 
cushion  forward  below  her  feet  and  was  about 
to  sit  up  where  she  had  made  room  for  him  when 
the  engineer  put  both  hands  to  the  throttle-bar 
and  shut  off.  For  the  first  time  since  they  had 
started  Gertrude  saw  him  look  around. 

"Where's  Point  of  Rocks?"  he  called  to  Glover 
as  they  slowed,  and  he  looked  at  his  watch.  "I'm 
afraid  we're  by." 

"By?"  echoed  Glover. 

"It  looks  so." 

The  fireman  opened  his  furnace  with  a  bang. 
The  engineer  got  stiffly  down  and  straightened  his 
legs  while  he  consulted  with  Glover.  Both  knew 
they  had  been  running  past  small  stations  without 
seeing  them,  but  to  lose  Point  of  Rocks  with  its 
freight  houses,  coal  chutes,  and  water  tanks  1 

They  talked  for  a  minute,  the  engineer  climbed 
up  to  his  seat,  the  reverse  lever  was  thrown  over 
and  they  started  cautiously  back  on  a  hunt  for  the 
lost  station,  both  straining  their  eyes  for  a  glimpse 
of  a  light  or  a  building.  For  twenty  minutes  they 

185 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

ran  back  without  finding  a  solitary  landmark. 
When  they  stopped,  afraid  to  retreat  farther, 
Glover  got  out  into  the  storm,  walked  back  and 
forth,  and,  chilled  to  the  bone,  plunged  through  the 
shallow  drifts  from  side  to  side  of  the  right  of 
way  in  a  vain  search  for  reckoning.  Railroad  men 
on  the  rotary,  the  second  day  after,  exploded 
Glover's  torpedoes  eleven  miles  west  of  Point  of 
Rocks,  where  he  had  fastened  them  that  night  to 
the  rails  to  warn  the  ploughs  asked  for  when  leav 
ing  Sleepy  Cat. 

With  his  clothing  frozen  he  swung  up  into 
the  cab.  They  were  lost.  She  could  see  his  eyes 
now.  She  could  see  his  face.  Their  perilous  state 
she  could  not  understand,  nor  know;  but  she  knew 
and  understood  what  she  saw  in  his  face  and  eyes — 
the  resource  and  the  daring.  She  saw  her  lover 
then,  master  of  the  elements,  of  the  night  and  the 
danger,  and  her  heart  went  out  to  his  strength. 

The  three  men  talked  together  and  the  fireman 
asked  the  question  that  none  dared  answer,  "What 
about  the  ploughs?" 

Would  Giddings  hold  them  at  Point  of  Rocks 
till  the  Special  reported? 

Would  he  send  them  out  to  keep  the  track  open 
regardless  of  the  Special's  reaching  Point  of 
Rocks? 

Had  they  themselves  reached  Point  of  Rocks  at 
186 


Storm 

all?  If  past  it,  had  they  been  seen?  Were  the 
ploughs  ahead  or  behind?  And  the  fireman  asked 
another  question;  if  they  were  by  the  Point  tank, 
would  the  water  hold  till  they  got  to  Medicine 
Bend?  No  one  could  answer. 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  do;  to  keep  in  mo 
tion.  They  started  slowly.  The  alternatives  were 
discussed.  Glover,  pondering,  cast  them  all  up, 
his  awful  responsibility,  unconscious  of  her  peril, 
watching  him  from  the  fireman's  box.  The  engi 
neer  looked  to  Glover  instinctively  for  instructions 
and,  hesitating  no  longer,  he  ordered  a  dash  for 
Medicine  Bend  regardless  of  everything. 

Without  a  qualm  the  engineer  opened  his 
throttle  and  hooked  up  his  bar  and  the  engine 
leaped  blindly  ahead  into  the  storm.  Glover,  in  a 
few  words,  told  Gertrude  their  situation.  He  made 
no  effort  to  disguise  it,  and  to  his  astonishment  she 
heard  him  quietly.  He  cramped  himself  down  at 
her  feet  and  muffled  his  head  in  his  cap  and  collar 
to  look  ahead. 

They  had  hardly  more  than  recovered  their 
lost  distance,  and  were  running  very  hard  when 
a  shower  of  heavy  blows  struck  the  cab  and  the 
engine  gave  a  frantic  plunge.  Forgetting  that  he 
pulled  no  train  McGraw's  eyes  flew  to  the  air 
gauge  with  the  thought  his  train  had  broken,  but 
the  pointer  stood  steady  at  the  high  pressure. 

187 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

Again  the  monster  machine  strained,  and  again  the 
cab  rose  and  plunged  terrifically.  The  engineer 
leaped  at  the  throttle  like  a  cat;  Gertrude,  jolted 
first  backward,  was  thrown  rudely  forward  on 
Glover's  shoulder,  and  the  fireman  slid  head  first 
into  the  oil  cans.  Worst  of  all,  Glover,  in  saving 
Gertrude,  put  his  elbow  through  the  lower  glass 
of  the  running-board  door.  The  engine  stopped 
and  a  blast  of  powdered  ice  streamed  in  on  them; 
their  eyes  met. 

She  tried  to  get  her  breath.  "Don't  be  fright 
ened,"  he  said;  "you  are  all  right.  Sit  perfectly 
still.  What  have  you  got,  Paddy?"  he  called  to 
the  engineer.  The  engineer  did  not  attempt  to 
answer;  taking  lanterns,  the  two  men  climbed  out 
of  the  cab  to  investigate.  The  wind  swept  through 
the  broken  pane  and  Gertrude  slipped  down  from 
her  seat  with  relief,  while  the  fireman  caught  up 
a  big  double  handful  of  waste  from  his  box  and 
stuffed  it  into  the  broken  pane.  So  intense  had 
the  strain  of  silence  become  that  she  would  have 
spoken  to  him,  but  the  sudden  stop  sprung  the 
safety-valve,  and  overwhelmed  with  its  roar  she 
could  only  watch  him  in  wretched  suspense  shake 
the  grate,  restore  his  drip  can,  start  his  injector, 
and  hammer  like  one  pursued  by  a  fury  at  the  coal. 
Since  she  had  entered  the  cab  this  man  had  never 
for  one  minute  rested. 

188 


Storm 

McGraw,  followed  by  Glover,  climbed  back 
under  the  canvas  from  the  gangway.  Their  cloth 
ing,  moist  with  the  steam  of  the  cab,  had  stiffened 
the  instant  the  wind  struck  it.  McGraw  hastening 
to-  the  furnace  seized  the  chain,  jerked  open  the 
door  and  motioned  to  Glover  to  come  to  the  fire, 
but  Glover  shook  his  head  behind  McGraw,  his 
hands  on  the  little  man's  shoulders,  and  forced  him 
down  in  front  of  the  fearful  blaze  to  thaw  the 
gloves  from  his  aching  fingers. 

All  the  horror  of  the  storm  they  were  facing 
had  passed  Gertrude  unfelt  until  she  saw  the  silent 
writhing  of  the  crouching  man.  This  was  three 
minutes  of  the  wind  that  Glover  had  asked  her  not 
to  tempt ;  this  was  the  wind  she  had  tempted.  She 
was  glad  that  Glover,  bending  over  the  engineer, 
holding  one  hand  to  the  fire  as  he  gazed  into  it, 
did  not  look  toward  her.  From  cap  to  boots  he 
was  frozen  in  snow  and  ice.  The  two  men,  with 
out  speaking,  left  the  cab  again.  They  were 
gone  longer.  Gertrude  felt  chills  running  over 
her. 

"This  is  a  terrible  night,"  she  said  to  the  fire 
man. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  it's  pretty  bad.  I  don't  know 
why  they'd  send  white  men  out  into  this.  I 
wouldn't  send  a  coyote  out." 

"They  are  staying  out  so  long  this  time,"  she 
189 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

murmured.      "Could  they  possibly   freeze  while 
they  are  out,  do  you  think?" 

"Sure,  they  could;  but  them  boys  know  too 
much  for  that.  Mr.  Glover  stays  out  a  week  at 
a  time  in  this  kind;  he  don't  care.  That  man 
Paddy  McGraw  is  his  head  engineer  in  the  buck 
ing  gang;  he  don't  care — them  fellows  don't  care. 
But  I've  got  a  wife  at  the  Cat  and  two  babies, 
that's  my  fix.  I  never  cared  neither  when  I  was 
single,  but  if  I'm  carried  home  now  it's  seven  hun 
dred  and  fifty  relief  and  a  thousand  dollars  in  the 
A.  O.  U.  W.,  and  that's  the  end  of  it  for  the 
woman.  That's  why  I  don't  like  to  freeze  to 
death,  ma'am.  But  what  can  you  do  if  you're 
ordered  out?  Suppose  your  woman  is  a-hangin' 
to  your  neck  like  mine  hung  to  me  to-night  and 
cryin' — whatever  can  you  do?  You've  got  to  go 
or  lose  your  job;  and  if  you  lose  your  job  who'll 
feed  your  kids  then?" 

McGraw's  head  appeared  under  the  canvas 
doorway.  Glover  did  not  follow  him  and  Ger 
trude  grew  alarmed:  but  when  the  canvas  rattled 
and  she  saw  his  cap  she  was  waiting  for  him  at 
the  doorway  and  she  put  her  hands  happily  on  his 
frozen  sleeve:  "I'm  so  glad." 

He  looked  at  her  with  humor  in  his  big  eyes. 

"I  was  afraid  without  you,"  she  added,  con 
fusedly. 

190 


Storm 

He  laughed.  "There's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of." 

"Oh,  you  are  so  cold.     Come  to  the  fire." 

"What  do  you  think  about  the  ploughs  now?" 
he  asked  of  McGraw,  who  had  climbed  up  to  his 
seat. 

"How  many  is  there?"  returned  the  engineer  as 
Glover  shivered  before  the  fire. 

"There  may  be  a  thousand." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"There's  only  one  thing,  Paddy.  Go  through 
them,"  answered  Glover,  slamming  shut  the  fur 
nace  door. 

McGraw  laid  his  bar  over,  and,  like  one  putting 
his  house  in  order,  looked  at  his  gauges  and  tried 
his  valves. 

"What  is  it?"  whispered  Gertrude,  at  Glover's 
side. 

He  turned.     "We've  struck  a  bunch  of  sheep." 

"Sheep?" 

"In  a  storm  they  drift  to  keep  from  freezing 
out  in  the  open.  These  sheep  have  bunched  in  a 
little  cut  out  of  the  wind,"  he  explained,  as  the 
fireman  sprinkled  the  roaring  furnace.  "You  had 
better  get  up  on  your  seat,  Miss  Brock." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Run  through  them." 

"Run  through  them?  Do  you  mean  to  kill 
them?" 

191 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"We  shall  have  to  kill  a  few;  there  isn't  much 
danger." 

"But  oh,  must  you  mangle  those  poor  creatures 
huddling  in  the  cut  out  of  the  storm?  Oh,  don't 
do  that." 

"We  can't  help  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  you  can  if  you  will,  I  am  sure." 
She  looked  at  him  imploringly. 

"Indeed  I  cannot.  Listen  a  moment."  He 
spoke  steadily.  The  wheels  were  turning  under 
her,  the  engine  was  backing  for  the  dash.  "We 
know  now  the  ploughs  are  not  ahead  of  us,  for  the 
cut  is  full  of  sheep  and  snow.  If  they  are  behind 
us  we  are  in  grave  danger.  They  may  strike  us  at 
any  moment — that  means,  do  you  understand? 
death.  We  can't  go  back  now;  there's  too  much 
snow  even  if  the  track  were  clear.  To  stay  here 
means  to  freeze  to  death."  She  turned  restively 
from  him.  "Could  you  have  thought  it  a  joke," 
he  asked,  slowly,  "to  run  a  hundred  and  seventy 
miles  through  a  blizzard?"  She  looked  away  and 
her  sob  cut  him  to  the  heart.  "I  did  not  mean  to 
wound  you,"  he  murmured.  "It's  only  that  you 
don't  realize  what  self-preservation  means.  I 
wouldn't  kill  a  fly  unnecessarily,  but  do  you  think 
I  could  stand  it  to  see  anyone  in  this  cab  mangled 
by  a  plough  behind  us — or  to  see  you  freeze  to 
death  if  the  engine  should  die  and  we're  caught 

192 


Storm 

here  twelve  hours  ?  It  is  our  lives  or  theirs,  that's 
all,  and  they  will  freeze  anyway.  We  are  only 
putting  them  out  of  their  misery.  Come;  we  are 
starting."  He  helped  her  to  her  seat. 

"Don't  leave  me,"  she  faltered.  The  cylinder 
cocks  were  drumming  wildly.  "Which  ever  way 
we  turn  there's  danger,"  he  admitted,  reluctantly, 
"a  steam  pipe  might  burst.  You  must  cover  your 
face."  She  drew  the  high  collar  of  her  coat 
around  her  neck  and  buried  her  face  in  her  muff, 
but  he  caught  up  a  blanket  and  dropped  it  com 
pletely  over  her  head;  then  locking  her  arm  in  his 
own  he  put  one  heavy  boot  against  the  furnace 
door,  and,  braced  between  the  woman  he  loved  and 
the  fire-box,  nodded  to  the  engineer — McGraw 
gave  head. 

Furred  with  snow,  and  bearded  fearfully  with 
ice;  creeping  like  a  mountain-cat  on  her  prey; 
quivering  under  the  last  pound  of  steam  she  could 
carry,  and  hissing  wildly  as  McGraw  stung  her 
heels  again  and  again  from  the  throttle,  the  great 
engine  moved  down  on  the  blocked  cut. 

Unable  to  reckon  distance  or  resistance  but  by 
instinct,  and  forced  to  risk  everything  for  head 
way,  McGraw  pricked  the  cylinders  till  the  smart 
ing  engine  roared.  Then,  crouching  like  a  jockey 
for  a  final  cruel  spur  he  goaded  the  monster  for 
the  last  time  and  rose  in  his  stirrups  for  the  crash. 

193 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

With  never  a  slip  or  a  stumble,  hardly  reeling 
in  her  ponderous  frame,  the  straining  engine 
plunged  headlong  into  the  curve.  Only  once,  she 
staggered  and  rolled ;  once  only,  three  reckless  men 
rose  to  answer  death  as  it  knocked  at  their  hearts; 
but  their  hour  was  not  come,  and  the  engine  strug 
gled,  righted,  and  parted  the  living  drift  from  end 
to  end. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

DAYBREAK 

CROUCHING  under  the  mountains  in  the 
grip  of  the  storm  Medicine  Bend  slept 
battened  in  blankets  and  beds.  All  night  at  the 
Wickiup,  O'Neill  and  Giddings,  gray  with  anxiety, 
were  trying  to  keep  track  of  Glover's  Special.  It 
was  the  only  train  out  that  night  on  the  mountain 
division.  For  the  first  hour  or  two  they  kept  tab 
on  her  with  little  trouble,  but  soon  reports  began 
to  falter  or  fail,  and  the  despatchers  were  reduced 
at  last  to  mere  rumors.  They  dropped  boards 
ahead  of  Special  1018,  only  to  find  to  their  con 
sternation  that  she  was  passing  them  unheeded. 

Once,  at  least,  they  knew  that  she  herself  had 
slipped  by  a  night  station  unseen.  Oftener,  with 
blanched  faces  they  would  hear  of  her  dashing  like 
an  apparition  past  a  frightened  operator  huddled 
over  his  lonely  stove,  a  spectral  flame  shot  across 
the  fury  of  the  sky — as  if  the  dread  night  breath 
ing  on  the  scrap-pile  and  the  grave  had  called 
from  other  nights  and  other  storms  a  wraith  of 
riven  engines  and  slaughtered  men  to  one  last 
phantom  race  with  death  and  the  wind. 

195 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

Within  two  hours  of  division  headquarters  a 
train  ran  lost — lost  as  completely  as  if  she  were 
crossing  the  Sweetgrass  plains  on  pony  trails  in 
stead  of  steel  rails.  Not  once  but  a  dozen  times 
McGraw  and  Glover,  pawning  their  lives,  left  the 
cab  with  their  lanterns  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  locate 
a  station,  a  siding,  a  rock.  Numbed  and  bitten  at 
last  with  useless  exposure  they  cast  effort  to  the 
wind,  gave  the  engine  like  a  lost  horse  her  head, 
and  ran  through  everything  for  headquarters  and 
life.  Consultation  was  abandoned,  worry  put 
away,  one  good  chance  set  against  every  other 
chance  and  taken  in  silence. 

At  five  o'clock  that  morning  despatchers  and 
night  men  under  the  Wickiup  gables,  sitting  mood 
ily  around  the  big  stove,  sprang  to  their  feet 
together.  From  up  the  distant  gorge,  dying  far 
on  the  gale,  came  the  long  chime  blast  of  an  engine 
whistle;  it  was  the  lost  Special. 

They  crowded  to  the  windows  to  dispute  and 
listen.  Again  the  heavy  chime  was  sprung  and  a 
second  blast,  lasting  and  defiant,  reached  the  Wick 
iup — McGraw  was  whistling  for  the  upper  yard 
and  the  long  night  of  anxiety  was  ended.  Unable  to 
see  a  car  length  into  the  storm  howling  down  the 
yard,  save  where  the  big  arc-lights  of  the  platform 
glared  above  the  semaphores,  the  men  swarmed 
to  the  windows  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  belated 

196 


Daybreak 

engine.  When  the  rays  of  its  electric  headlight 
pierced  the  Western  night  they  shouted  like  boys, 
ran  to  the  telephones,  and  while  the  roundhouse, 
the  superintendent,  and  the  master-mechanic  were 
getting  the  news  the  Special  engine  steamed 
slowly  into  sight  through  the  whirling  snow  and 
stopped  at  the  semaphore.  So  a  liner  shaken  in 
the  teeth  of  a  winter  storm,  battered  by  heading 
seas,  and  swept  by  stiffening  spray,  rides  at  last, 
ice-bound,  staggering,  majestic,  into  port. 

The  moment  they  struck  the  mountain-path  into 
the  Bend,  McGraw  and  Glover  caught  their  bear 
ings  by  the  curves,  and  Glover,  standing  at  Ger 
trude's  elbow,  told  her  they  were  safe. 

Not  until  he  had  laughed  into  her  ear  some 
thing  that  the  silent  McGraw,  lying  on  his  back 
under  the  engine  with  a  wrench,  when  he  confessed 
he  never  expected  to  see  Medicine  Bend  again, 
had  said  of  her  own  splendid  courage  did  the  flood 
spring  from  her  eyes. 

When  Glover  added  that  they  were  entering 
the  gorge,  and  laughingly  asked  if  she  would  not 
like  to  sound  the  whistle  for  the  yard  limits,  she 
smiled  through  tears  and  gave  him  her  hand  to 
be  helped  down,  cramped  and  chilled,  from  her 
corner. 

At  the  moment  that  she  left  the  cab  she  faltered 
again.  McGraw  stripped  his  cap  from  his  head 

197 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

as  she  turned  to  speak.  She  took  from  the 
breast  of  her  blouse  her  watch,  dainty  as  a 
jewel,  and  begged  him  to  take  it,  but  he  would 
not. 

She  drew  her  glove  and  stripped  from  her  finger 
a  ring. 

"This  is  for  your  wife,"  she  said,  pressing  it 
into  his  hand. 

"I  have  no  wife." 

"Your  sister." 

"Nor  sister." 

"Keep  it  for  your  bride,"  she  whispered,  re 
treating.  "It  is  yours.  Good-by,  good-by!" 

She  sprang  from  the  gangway  to  Glover's  arms 
and  the  snow.  The  storm  drove  pitilessly  down 
the  bare  street  as  she  clung  to  his  side  and  tried 
to  walk  the  half  block  to  the  hotel.  The  wind, 
even  for  a  single  minute,  was  deadly  to  face.  No 
light,  no  life  was  anywhere  visible.  He  led  her 
along  the  lee  of  the  low  street  buildings,  and  mind 
ful  of  the  struggle  it  was  to  make  headway  at  all 
turned  half  between  her  and  the  wind  to  give  her 
the  shelter  of  his  shoulders,  halting  as  she  stum 
bled  to  encourage  her  anew.  He  saw  then  that 
she  was  struggling  in  the  darkness  for  breath, 
and  without  a  word  he  bent  over  her,  took  her 
up  like  a  child  and  started  on,  carrying  her  in  his 
arms. 

198 


Daybreak 

If  he  frightened  her  she  gave  no  sign.  She  held 
herself  for  an  instant  uncertain  and  aloof,  though 
she  could  not  but  feel  the  heavy  draught  she  made 
on  his  strength.  The  wind  stung  her  cheeks;  her 
breath  caught  again  in  her  throat  and  she  heard 
him  implore  her  to  turn  her  face,  to  turn  it  from 
the  wind.  He  stumbled  as  he  spoke,  and  as  she 
shielded  her  face  from  the  deadly  cold,  one  hand 
slipped  from  her  muff.  Reaching  around  his  head 
she  drew  his  storm-cap  more  closely  down  with 
her  fingers.  When  he  thanked  her  she  tried  to 
speak  and  could  not,  but  her  glove  rested  an  in 
stant  where  the  wind  struck  his  cheek;  then  her 
head  hid  upon  his  shoulder  and  her  arms  wound 
slowly  and  tightly  around  his  neck. 

He  kicked  open  the  door  of  the  hotel  with  one 
blow  of  his  foot  and  set  her  down  inside. 

In  the  warm  dark  office,  breathing  unsteadily, 
they  faced  each  other.  "Can  you,  Gertrude, 
marry  that  man  and  break  my  heart?"  He 
caught  up  her  two  hands  with  his  words. 

"No,"  she  answered,  brokenly.  "Are  you 
sure  you  are  not  frozen — ears  or  cheeks  or 
hands?" 

"You  won't  marry  him,  Gertrude,  and  break 
my  heart  ?  Tell  me  you  won't  marry  him." 

"No,  I  won't." 

"Tell  me  again." 

199 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"Shall  I  tell  you  everything?" 

"If  you  have  mercy  for  me  as  I  have  love  for 
you."  ' 

"I  ran  away  from  him  to-night.  He  came  out 
with  the  directors  and  telegraphed  he  would  be  at 
the  Springs  in  the  afternoon  for  his  answer,  and — 
I  ran  away.  He  has  his  answer  long  ago  and  I 
would  not  see  him." 

"Brave  girl !" 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  brave,  I  was  a  dreadful  coward. 
But  I  thought " 

"What?" 

" — I  could  be  brave,  if  I  found  as  brave  a  man 
— as  you." 

"Gertrude,  if  I  kiss  you  I  never  can  give  you 
up.  Do  you  understand  what  that  means?  I 
never  in  life  or  death  can  give  you  up,  Gertrude, 
do  you  understand  me?" 

She  was  crying  on  his  shoulder.  "Oh,  yes,  I 
understand,"  and  he  heard  from  her  lips  the 
maddening  sweetness  of  his  boy  name.  "I  under 
stand,"  she  sobbed.  "I  don't  care,  Ab — if  only — 
you  will  be  kind  to  me." 

It  was  only  a  moment  later — her  head  had  not 
yet  escaped  from  his  arm,  for  Glover  found  for 
the  first  time  that  it  is  one  thing  to  get  leave  to 
kiss  a  lovely  woman  and  wholly  another  to  get  the 
necessary  action  on  the  conscience-stricken  creature 

200 


Daybreak 


• — she  had  not  yet,  I  say,  escaped,  when  a  locomo 
tive  whistle  was  borne  from  the  storm  faintly  in 
on  their  ears.  To  her  it  meant  nothing,  but  she 
felt  him  start.  "What  is  it?"  she  whispered. 

"The  ploughs!" 

"The  ploughs?" 

"The  snow-ploughs  that  followed  us.  Twenty 
minutes  behind — twenty  minutes  between  us  and 
death,  Gertrude,  in  that  blizzard,  think  of  it. 
That  must  mean  we  are  to  live." 

The  solemn  thought  naturally  suggested,  to 
Glover  at  least,  a  resumption  of  the  status  quo, 
but  as  he  was  locating,  in  the  dark,  there  came 
from  behind  the  stove  a  mild  cough.  The  effect 
on  the  construction  engineer  of  the  whole  blizzard 
was  to  that  cough  as  nothing.  Inly  raging  he 
seated  Gertrude — indeed,  she  sunk  quite  faintly 
into  a  chair,  and  starting  for  the  stove  Glover 
dragged  from  behind  it  Solomon  BattershawL 
"What  are  you  doing  here?"  demanded  Glover, 
savagely. 

"I'm  night  clerk,  Mr.  Glover — ow— 

"Night  clerk?  Very  well,  Solomon,"  muttered 
Glover,  grimly,  "take  this  young  lady  to  the 
warmest  room  in  the  house  at  once." 

"Every  room's  full,  Mr.  Glover.  Trains  were 
all  tied  up  last  night." 

"Then  show  her  to  my  room." 
201 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"Your  room's  occupied." 

"My  room  occupied,  you  villain?  What  do 
you  mean?  Throw  out  whoever's  in  it  instantly." 

"Mr.  Brock  is  in  your  room." 

Gertrude  had  come  over  to  the  stove. 

"Mr.  Brock!" 

"My  father!" 

"Yes,  sir;  yes,  ma'am." 

Gertrude  and  Glover  looked  at  one  another. 

"Mr.  Blood  brought  him  up  last  night,"  said 
Solomon. 

"Where's  Mr.  Blood?" 

"He  hasn't  come  up  from  the  Wickiup.  They 
said  he  was  worried  over  a  special  from  the  Cat 
that  was  caught  in  the  blizzard.  Your  laundry 
came  in  all  right  last  night,  Mr.  Glover " 

"Hang  the  laundry." 

"I  paid  for  it." 

"Will  you  cease  your  gabble?  If  Mr.  Blood's 
room  is  empty  take  Miss  Block  up  there  and  rouse 
a  chambermaid  instantly  to  attend  her.  -  Do  you 
hear?" 

"Shall  I  throw  out  Mr.  Brock?" 

"Let  him  alone,  stupid.  What's  the  matter 
with  the  lights?" 

"The  wires  are  down." 

"Get  a  candle  for  Miss  Brock.  Now,  will  you 
make  haste?"  Solomon,  when  he  heard  the  name, 

202 


Daybreak 


stared  at  Miss  Brock — but  when  he  recognized 
her  he  started  without  argument  and  was  gone  an 
unconscionably  long  time. 

They  sat  down  where  they  could  feast  on  each 
other's  eyes  in  the  glow  of  the  coal-stove. 

"You  have  looked  so  worried  all  night,"  said 
Gertrude,  in  love's  solicitude;  "were  you  afraid 
we  should  be  lost?" 

"No,  I  didn't  intend  we  should  be  lost." 

"What  was  it?  What  is  it  that  makes  you  so 
careworn?" 

"Nothing  special." 

"But  you  mustn't  have  any  secrets  from  me 
now.  What  is  it?" 

"Do  you  want  to  know?" 

"Yes." 

"I  couldn't  find  time  to  get  shaved  before  we 
left  Sleepy  Cat- 
She  rose  with  both  hands  uplifted:  "Shades  of 
vain  heroes!  Have  I  wasted  my  sympathy  all 
night  on  a  man  who  has  been  saving  my  life  with 
perfect  calmness  and  worrying  because  he  couldn't 
get  shaved?" 

"Can  you  dispassionately  say  that  I  don't  need 
barbering?" 

"No.  But  this  is  what  I  will  say,  silly  fellow — 
you  don't  know  much  about  a  woman's  heart,  do 
you,  Ab?  When  I  first  looked  at  you  I  thought 

203 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

you  were  the  homeliest  man  I  had  ever  seen,  do 
you  know  that?" 

Glover  fingered  his  offending  chin  and  looked 
at  her  somewhat  pathetically. 

"But  last  night" — her  quick  mouth  was  so  elo 
quent — "last  night  I  watched  you.  I  saw  your  face 
lighted  by  the  anger  of  the  storm.  I  knew  then 
what  those  heavy,  homely  lines  below  your  eyes 
were  for — strength.  And  I  saw  your  eyes,  to 
me  so  dull  at  first,  wake  and  fill  with  such  a  light 
and  burn  so  steadily  hour  after  hour  that  I  knew 
I  had  never  seen  eyes  like  yours.  I  knew  you 
would  save  me — that  is  what  made  me  so  brave, 
goosie.  Sit  right  where  you  are,  please." 

She  slipped  out  of  her  chair;  he  pursued.  "If 
you  will  say  such  things  and  then  run  into  the 
dark  corners,"  he  muttered.  But  when  Solomon 
appeared  with  a  water-pitcher  they  were  ready  for 
him. 

"Now  what  has  kept  you  all  this  time?"  glared 
Glover,  insincerely. 

"I  couldn't  find  any  ice-water." 

"Ice-water !" 

"Every  pipe  is  froze  solid,  but  I  chopped  up 
some  ice  and  brought  that." 

"Ice-water,  you  double-dyed  idiot!  Go  get 
your  candle." 

"Yes,  sir." 

204 


Daybreak 


"Don't  be  so  cross,"  whispered  Gertrude. 
"You  were  so  short  with  that  poor  fireman  to 
night,  and  he  told  me  such  a  pitiful  story  about 
being  ordered  out  and  having  to  go  or  lose  his 
position " 

"Did  Foley  tell  you  that?" 

"Yes." 

"Surely,  nerve  runs  in  his  family  as  well  as 
his  cousin's.  The  rascal  came  because  I  hung 
up  a  little  purse  for  a  fireman  at  the  roundhouse, 
and  he  nearly  had  a  fight  with  another  fellow  that 
wanted  to  cut  him  out  of  the  job." 

"Such  a  cheat!  How  much  did  you  offer 
him?" 

"Not  very  much." 

"But  how  much?" 

"Twenty-five  dollars,  and,  by  heavens,  he 
dunned  me  for  it  just  after  we  started." 

"But  his  poor  wife  hung  to  his  neck  when  he 
left " 

"No  doubt.  She  has  pulled  all  the  hair  out  of 
his  head  twice  that  I  know  of " 

"And  I  gave  him  my  purse  with  all  the  money 
I  had  in  it." 

"How  much?" 

"About  three  hundred  dollars." 

"Three  hundred  dollars!  Foley  will  lay  off 
two  months  and  take  the  whole  family  back  to 

205 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

Pittsburg.  Now,  here's  your  candle  and  chopped 
ice  and  Mr.  Battershawl." 

Gertrude  turned  for  a  last  whisper — "What 
should  you  say  if  papa  came  down?" 

"What  should  I  say?  He  would  probably  say, 
'Mr.  Glover,  I  have  your  room.'  'Don't  mention 
it,'  I  should  reply,  'I  have  your  daughter.'  '  But 
Mr.  Brock  did  not  come  down. 

Barely  half  an  hour  later,  while  Glover  waited 
with  anxiety  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  Gertrude 
reappeared,  and  with  her  loveliness  all  new, 
walked  shyly  and  haltingly  down  each  step  toward 
him. 

Not  a  soul  about  the  hotel  office  had  stirred,  and 
Glover  led  her  to  the  retired  little  parlor,  which 
was  warm  and  dim,  to  reassure  himself  that  the 
fluttering  girl  was  all  his  own.  Unable  to  credit 
the  fulness  of  their  own  happiness  they  sat  con 
fiding  to  each  other  all  the  sweet  trifles,  now  made 
doubly  sweet,  of  their  strange  acquaintance.  Be 
fore  six  o'clock,  and  while  their  seclusion  was  still 
their  own,  a  hot  breakfast  was  served  to  them 
where  they  sat,  and  day  broke  on  storm  without 
and  lovers  within. 


206 


CHAPTER   XIX 

SUSPENSE 

WHAT  shapes  the  legends  of  the  Wickiup? 
Is  it  because  in  the  winter  night  the  wind 
never  sleeps  in  the  gorge  above  the  headquarters 
shack  that  despatchers  talk  yet  of  a  wind  that 
froze  the  wolf  and  the  sheep  and  the  herder  to 
marble  together?  Is  it  because  McGraw  runs  no 
more  that  switchmen  tell  of  the  run  he  made  over 
Sweetgrass  the  night  he  sent  a  plough  through  eight 
hundred  head  of  sheep  in  less  than  a  tenth  as  many 
seconds?  Could  the  night  that  laid  the  horse  and 
the  hunter  side  by  side  in  the  Spider  Park  drift 
have  been  wildest  of  all  wild  mountain  nights? 
Or  is  it  because  Gertrude  Brock  and  her  railroad 
lover  rode  out  its  storm  together  that  mountain 
men  say  there  was  never  a  storm  like  that?  What 
shapes  the  Wickiup  legends? 

For  three  days  Medicine  Bend  did  not  see  the 
sun.  Veering  uneasily,  springing  from  every 
quarter  at  once,  the  wind  wedged  the  gray  clouds 
up  the  mountain  sides  only  to  roll  them  like 
avalanches  down  the  ragged  passes.  At  the  end 
of  the  week  snow  was  falling. 

207 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

Not  until  the  morning  of  the  third  day  when 
reports  came  in  of  the  unheard-of  temperatures 
in  the  North  and  West  did  the  weather  cause  real 
apprehension.  The  division  never  had  been  in 
such  a  position  to  protect  its  winter  traffic — for  a 
year  Callahan,  Blood,  and  Glover  had  been  over 
hauling  and  assembling  the  old  and  the  new  buck 
ing  equipment.  But  the  wind  settled  at  last  in  the 
northeast,  and  when  it  stilled  the  mercury  sunk, 
and  when  it  rose  the  snow  fell,  roofing  the  sheds 
on  the  passes,  levelling  the  lower  gulches,  and  pil 
ing  up  reserves  along  the  cuts. 

The  first  trouble  came  on  the  main  line  in  the 
Heart  Mountains,  and  Morris  Blood,  with  the 
roadmaster  of  the  sixth  district  and  Benedict  Mor 
gan,  got  after  it  with  a  crew  together. 

Between  the  C  bridge  and  Potter's  Gap  they 
spent  two  days  with  a  rotary  and  a  flanger  and 
three  consolidated  engines  and  went  home,  leaving 
everything  swept  clean,  only  to  learn  in  the  morn 
ing  that  west  of  the  gap  there  were  four  feet  of 
fresh  snow  clear  to  Rozelle.  From  the  northern 
ranges  came  unusual  reports  of  the  continued 
severity  of  the  storms.  It  was  hardly  a  series  of 
storms,  for  that  winter  the  first  storm  that  crossed 
the  line  lasted  three  weeks. 

In  the  interval  Bucks  was  holding  to  the  direct 
ors  at  Medicine  Bend,  waiting  for  the  weather 

208 


Suspense 

to  settle  enough  to  send  them  to  the  coast.  The 
Pittsburg  party  waited  at  Glen  Tarn  for  Mr. 
Brock's  word  to  join  him.  At  the  Bend,  Gertrude 
made  love  to  her  father,  forfending  the  awful 
moment  of  disclosure  that  must  come,  and  the 
cause  of  her  hidden  happiness  and  trouble  strenu 
ously  made  love  to  her. 

To  the  joy  of  the  conspirators,  Bucks  held 
Glover  closely  at  headquarters,  keeping  him 
closeted  for  long  periods  on  the  estimates  that 
were  in  final  cooking  for  the  directors;  and  so 
dense  are  great  people  and  so  keen  the  simple,  that 
Gertrude  held  her  lone  seat  of  honor  beside  her 
father,  at  the  table  of  the  great  financiers  in  the 
dining-room,  without  the  remotest  suspicion  on 
their  parts  that  the  superb  woman  meeting  them 
three  times  a  day  was  carrying  on  a  proudly-hidden 
love  affair  with  the  muscular,  absorbed-looking 
man  who  sat  alone  across  the  aisle. 

But  the  asthmatic  old  pastry  cook,  who  weighed 
at  least  two  hundred  and  thirty  pounds  and  had 
not  even  seen  the  inside  of  the  dining-room  for 
three  years,  was  thoroughly  posted  on  every  ob 
servable  phase  of  the  affair  down  to  the  dessert 
orders;  and  no  one  acquainted  with  the  frank  pro 
fanity  of  a  mountain  meat  cook  will  doubt  that 
the  best  of  everything  went  hot  from  the  range  to 
Glover  and  Gertrude.  Dollar  tips  and  five-dollar 

209 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

tips  from  Eastern  epicures  could  not  change  this, 
for  the  meals  were  served  by  waitresses  who  felt  a 
personal  responsibility  in  the  issue  of  the  pretty 
affair  of  the  heart. 

The  whole  second  floor  of  the  little  hotel  had 
been  reserved  for  the  directors'  party,  and  among 
the  rooms  was  the  parlor.  There  Glover  called 
regularly  every  evening  on  Mr.  Brock,  who,  some 
what  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  young  man's  in 
terest,  excused  himself  after  the  first  few  minutes 
and  left  Gertrude  to  entertain  the  gentleman  who 
had  been  so  kind  to  everybody  that  she  could 
not  be  discourteous  even  if  he  was  somewhat  tedi 
ous. 

One  night  after  a  particularly  happy  evening 
near  the  piano  for  Gertrude  and  Glover,  Mr. 
Brock,  re-entering  the  parlor,  found  the  somewhat 
tedious  gentleman  bending  very  low,  as  his 
daughter  said  good-night,  over  her  hand;  in  fact, 
the  gentleman  that  had  been  so  kind  to  everybody 
was  kissing  it. 

When  Glover  recovered  his  perpendicular  the 
cold  magnate  of  the  West  End  stood  between  the 
folding  doors  looking  directly  at  him.  If  the 
owner  of  several  trunk  lines  expected  his  look  to 
inspire  consternation  he  was  disappointed.  Each 
of  the  lovers  feared  but  one  person  in  the  world; 
that  was  the  other.  Gertrude,  with  perhaps  an 

210 


Suspense 

extra  touch  of  dignity,  put  her  compromised  hand 
to  her  belt  for  her  handkerchief.  Glover  finished 
the  sentence  he  was  in  the  middle  of — "If  I  am 
not  ordered  out.  Good-night." 

But  when  Mr.  Brock  had  turned  abruptly  on 
his  heel  and  disappeared  between  the  portieres 
they  certainly  did  look  at  one  another. 

"Have  I  got  you  into  trouble  now?"  murmured 
Glover,  penitently.  Uneasiness  was  apparent  in 
her  expression,  but  with  her  back  to  the  piano  Ger 
trude  stood  steadfast. 

"Not,"  she  said,  with  serious  tenderness,  "just 
now.  Don't  you  know  ?  It  was  the  first,  the  very 
first,  day  you  looked  into  my  eyes,  dear,  that  you 
got  me  into  trouble." 

Her  pathetic  sweetness  moved  him.  Then  he 
flamed  with  determination.  He  would  take  the 
burden  on  himself — would  face  her  father  at  once, 
but  she  hushed  him  in  real  alarm  and  said,  that 
battle  she  must  fight  unaided;  it  was  after  all  only 
a  little  one,  she  whispered,  after  the  one  she  had 
fought  with  herself.  But  he  knew  she  glossed 
over  her  anxiety,  for  when  he  withdrew  her  eyes 
looked  tears  though  they  shed  none. 

In  the  morning  there  were  two  vacancies  at  the 
breakfast  table;  neither  Gertrude  nor  her  father 
appeared.  When  Glover  returned  to  the  hotel  at 
five  o'clock  the  first  person  he  saw  was  Mrs.  Whit- 

211 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

ney.  She  and  Marie,  with  the  doctor  and  Allen 
Harrison,  had  arrived  on  the  first  train  out  of 
the  Springs  in  four  days,  and  Mrs.  Whitney's 
greeting  of  Glover  in  the  office  was  disconcerting. 
It  scarcely  needed  Gertrude's  face  at  dinner,  as 
she  tried  to  brave  the  storm  that  had  set  in,  or  her 
reluctant  admission  when  she  saw  him  as  she 
passed  up  to  her  room  that  she  and  her  father 
had  been  up  nearly  the  whole  of  the  night  before, 
to  complete  his  depression. 

Every  effort  he  made  during  the  evening  to 
speak  to  Gertrude  was  balked  by  some  untoward 
circumstance,  but  about  nine  o'clock  they  met  on 
the  parlor  floor  and  Glover  led  her  to  the  elevator, 
which  was  being  run  that  night  by  Solomon  Bat- 
tershawl.  Solomon  lifted  them  to  the  top  floor 
and  made  busy  at  the  end  of  the  hall  while  they 
had  five  short  minutes.  When  they  descended  he 
knew  what  she  was  facing.  Even  Marie,  the  one 
friend  he  thought  he  had  in  the  family,  had  taken 
a  stand  against  them,  and  her  father  was  deaf  to 
every  appeal. 

They  parted,  depressed,  with  only  a  hand  press 
ure,  a  look  and  a  whisper  of  constancy.  At  mid 
night,  as  Glover  lay  thinking,  a  crew  caller  rapped 
at  his  door.  He  brought  a  message  and  held  his 
electric  pocket-lamp  near,  while  Glover,  without 
getting  up,  read  the  telegram.  It  was  from  Bucks 

212 


Suspense 

asking  if  he  could  take  a  rotary  at  once  into  the 
Heart  Mountains. 

Glover  knew  snow  had  been  falling  steadily  on 
the  main  line  for  two  days.  East  of  the  middle 
range  it  was  nothing  but  extreme  cold,  west  it  had 
been  one  long  storm.  Morris  Blood  was  at 
Goose  River.  The  message  was  not  an  order; 
but  on  the  division  there  was  no  one  else  available 
at  the  moment  that  could  handle  safely  such  a 
battery  of  engines  as  would  be  needed  to  bore  the 
drifts  west  of  the  sheds.  Moreover,  Glover  knew 
how  Bucks  had  chafed  under  the  conditions  that 
kept  the  directors  on  his  hands.  They  were  im 
patient  to  get  to  the  coast,  and  the  general  man 
ager  was  anxious  to  be  rid  of  them  as  soon  as 
there  should  be  some  certainty  of  getting  them 
safely  over  the  mountains. 

Glover,  on  the  back  of  the  telegram,  scrawled 
a  note  to  Crosby,  the  master-mechanic,  and  turned 
over  not  to  sleep,  but  to  think — and  to  think,  not 
of  the  work  before  him,  but  of  her  and  of  her 
situation.  A  roundhouse  caller  roused  him  at 
half-past  three  with  word  that  the  snow  battery 
was  marked  up  for  four  o'clock.  He  rose,  dressed 
deliberately  and  carefully  for  the  exposure  ahead, 
and  sat  down  before  a  candle  to  tell  Gertrude,  in  a 
note,  when  he  hoped  to  be  back. 

Locking  his  trunk  when  he  had  done,  he  snuffed 
213 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

out  the  candle  and  closed  his  room  door  behind 
him.  The  hall  was  dark,  but  he  knew  its  turns,  and 
the  carpeted  stairs  gave  no  sound  as  he  walked 
down.  At  the  second  floor  there  were  two  stair 
ways  by  which  he  could  descend.  He  looked  up 
the  dim  corridor  toward  where  she  slept.  Some 
how  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  leave  with 
out  passing  her  room. 

His  heavy  tread  was  noiseless,  and  at  her  door 
he  paused  and  put  his  hand  uncertainly  upon  the 
casing.  In  the  darkness  his  head  bent  an  instant 
on  his  outstretched  arm — it  had  never  before  been 
hard  to  go;  then  he  turned  and  walked  softly 
away. 

At  the  breakfast  table  and  at  the  dinner  table 
the  talk  was  of  the  snow.  The  evening  paper  con 
tained  a  column  of  despatches  concerning  the 
blockade,  now  serious,  in  the  eighth  district.  Half 
the  first  page  was  given  to  alarming  reports  from 
the  cattle  ranges.  Two  mail-carriers  were  reported 
lost  in  the  Sweetgrass  country,  and  a  ski  runner 
from  Fort  Steadman,  which  had  been  cut  off  for 
eight  days,  told  of  thirty-five  feet  of  snow  in  the 
Whitewater  hills. 

Sleepy  Cat  reported  eighteen  inches  of  fresh 
snow,  and  a  second  delayed  despatch  under  the 
same  date-line  reported  that  a  bucking  special 

214 


Suspense 

from  Medicine  Bend,  composed  of  a  rotary,  a 
flanger,  and  five  locomotives  had  passed  that  point 
at  9  A.M.  for  the  eighth  district. 

Gertrude  found  no  interest  in  the  news  or  the 
discussion.  She  could  only  wonder  why  she  did 
not  see  Glover  during  the  day,  and  when  he  made 
no  appearance  at  dinner  she  grew  sick  with  uncer 
tainty.  Leaving  the  dining-room  ahead  of  the 
party  in  some  vague  hope  of  seeing  him,  Solomon 
hurried  up  with  the  note  that  Glover  had  left  to 
be  given  her  in  the  morning.  The  boy  had  gone 
off  duty  before  she  left  her  room  and  had  over 
slept,  but  instead  of  waiting  for  his  apologies  she 
hastened  to  her  room  and  locked  her  door  to  de 
vour  her  lover's  words.  She  saw  that  he  had  writ 
ten  her  in  the  dead  of  night  to  explain  his  going, 
and  to  say  good-by.  Bucks'  message  he  had  en 
closed.  "But  I  shall  work  very  hard  every  hour 
I  am  gone  to  get  back  the  sooner,"  he  promised, 
"and  if  you  hear  of  the  snow  flying  over  the  peaks 
on  the  West  End  you  will  know  that  I  am  behind 
it  and  headed  straight  for  you." 

When  Marie  and  Mrs.  Whitney  came  up,  Ger 
trude  sat  calmly  before  the  grate  fire,  but  the  note 
lay  hidden  over  her  heart,  for  in  it  he  had  whis 
pered  that  while  he  was  away  every  night  at  eight 
o'clock  and  every  morning,  no  matter  where  she 
should  be,  or  what  doing,  he  should  kiss  her  lips 

215 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

and  her  eyes  as  he  had  kissed  them  that  first  morn 
ing  in  the  dark,  warm  office.  When  eight  o'clock 
came  her  aunt  and  her  sister  sat  with  her;  but 
Gertrude  at  eight  o'clock,  musing,  was  with  her 
lover  and  her  lips  and  eyes  again  were  his  to  do 
with  what  he  would.  Later  Doctor  Lanning  came 
in  and  she  roused  to  hear  the  news  about  the  snow. 
Between  Sleepy  Cat  and  Bear  Dance  two  passen 
ger  trains  were  stalled,  and  on  Blackbird  hill  the 
snow  was  reported  four  feet  deep  on  the  level. 

When  the  doctor  had  gone  and  Marie  had  re 
tired,  Gertrude's  aunt  talked  to  her  seriously  about 
her  father,  whose  almost  frantic  condition  over 
what  he  called  Gertrude's  infatuation  was  alarm 
ing. 

Her  aunt  explained  how  her  final  refusal  of 
Allen  Harrison,  a  connection  on  which  her  father 
had  set  his  heart,  might  result  in  the  total  dis 
ruption  of  the  plans  which  held  so  mighty  in 
terests  together;  and  how  impossible  it  was  that 
he  should  ever  consent  to  her  throwing  herself 
away  on  an  obscure  Western  man. 

Only  occasionally  would  Gertrude  interrupt. 
"Don't  strip  the  poor  man  of  everything,  auntie. 
If  it  must  come  to  family — the  De  Gallons  and 
Cirodes  and  Glovers  were  lords  of  the  Mississippi 
when  our  Hessian  forefathers  were  hiding  from 
Washington  in  the  Trenton  hazelbushes." 

216 


Suspense 

She  could  meet  her  aunt's  fears  with  jests  and 
her  tears  with  smiles  until  the  worried  lady  chanc 
ing  on  a  deeper  chord  disarmed  her.  uYou  know 
you  are  my  pet,  Gertrude.  I  am  your  foster- 
mother,  dear,  and  I  have  tried  to  be  mother  to  you 
and  Marie,  and  sister  to  my  brother  every  day  of 
my  life  since  your  mother  died.  And  if  you 

Then  Gertrude's  arms  would  enfold  her  and  her 
head  hide  on  her  aunt's  shoulder,  and  they  would 
part  utterly  miserable. 

One  morning  when  Gertrude  woke  it  was  snow 
ing  and  Medicine  Bend  was  cut  completely  off  from 
the  western  end  of  the  division.  The  cold  in  the 
desert  districts  had  made  it  impossible  to  move 
freights.  During  the  night  they  had  been  snowed 
in  on  sidings  all  the  way  from  Sleepy  Cat  east.  By 
night  every  wire  was  down;  the  last  message  in 
was  a  private  one  from  Glover,  with  the  ploughs, 
dated  at  Nine  Mile. 

Solomon  brought  the  telegram  up  to  Gertrude 
with  the  intimation  that,  confidentially,  Mr. 
Blood's  assistant,  in  charge  of  the  Wickiup,  would 
be  glad  to  hear  any  news  it  might  contain  about 
the  blockade,  as  communication  was  now  cut  en 
tirely  off. 

Gertrude  told  the  messenger  only  that  she 
understood  the  blockade  in  the  eighth  district  had 
been  lifted  and  that  the  ploughs  were  headed  east. 

217 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

Then  as  the  lad  looked  wonderingly  at  her,  she 
started.  Have  I,  she  asked  herself,  already  be 
come  a  part  of  this  life,  that  they  come  to  me 
for  information?  But  she  did  not  add  that  the 
signer  of  the  message  had  promised  to  be  with  her 
in  twenty-four  hours. 

That  day  for  the  first  time  in  eighteen  years,  no 
trains  ran  in  or  out  of  Medicine  Bend,  and  an 
entire  regiment  of  cavalry  bound  for  the  Philip 
pines  was  known  to  be  buried  in  a  snowdrift  near 
San  Pete.  The  big  hotel  swarmed  with  snow 
bound  travellers.  The  snow  fell  all  day,  but  to 
Gertrude's  relief  her  father  and  the  men  of  the 
party  were  at  the  Wickiup  with  Bucks,  who  had 
come  in  during  the  night  with  reinforcements  from 
McCloud.  Unfortunately,  the  batteries  that  fol 
lowed  him  were  compelled  to  double  about  next 
morning  to  open  the  line  back  across  the  plains. 

The  gravity  of  the  situation  about  her,  the 
spectacle  of  the  struggle,  now  vast  and  all  absorb 
ing,  made  by  the  operating  department  to  copewith 
the  storm  and  cold,  and  the  anxieties  of  her  own 
position  plunged  Gertrude  into  a  gloom  she  had 
never  before  conceived  of.  Her  aunt's  forebod 
ings  and  tears,  her  father's  unbending  silence  and 
aloofness,  made  escape  from  her  depression  im 
possible.  When  Solomon  appeared  she  besought 
him  surreptitiously  for  news,  but  though  Solomon 

218 


Suspense 

fairly  staggered  with  the  responsibilities  of  his 
position  he  could  supply  nothing  beyond  rumors — • 
rumors  all  tending  to  magnify  the  reliance  placed 
on  Glover's  capabilities  in  stress  of  this  sort,  but 
not  at  the  moment  definitely  locating  him. 

Next  morning  the  creeping  eastern  light  had 
not  yet  entered  her  room  when  a  timid  rap 
aroused  her.  Solomon  was  outside  the  door  with 
news.  "The  ploughs  will  be  here  in  an  hour,"  he 
whispered. 

"The  ploughs?" 

Solomon  couldn't  resist  the  low  appeal  for 
more  definite  word.  He  had  no  information  more 
than  he  had  given,  but  he  bravely  journalized, 
"Mr.  Glover  and  everybody,  ma'am." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Solomon." 

She  rose,  with  wings  beating  love  across  the 
miles  that  separated  him  from  her.  Day  with  its 
perplexities  may  beset,  the  stars  bring  sometimes 
only  grief;  but  to  lovers  morning  brings  always 
joy,  because  it  brings  hope.  She  detained  Solo 
mon  a  moment.  A  resolve  fixed  itself  at  once  in 
her  heart;  to  greet  her  lover  the  instant  he  ar 
rived.  She  could  dress  and  slip  down  to  the  station 
and  back  before  the  others  awoke  even.  It  was 
hazardous,  but  what  venture  is  less  attractive  for  a 
hazard  if  it  bring  a  lover?  She  made  her  rapid 
toilet  with  affection  in  her  supple  fingers,  and  wel- 

219 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

come  glowing  in  her  quick  eyes,  and  she  left  her 
room  with  the  utmost  care.  Enveloped  in  the 
Newmarket,  because  he  loved  it,  her  hands  in  her 
big  muff,  and  her  cheeks  closely  veiled,  she  joined 
Solomon  in  the  reception  room  downstairs. 

The  morning  was  gray  with  a  snow  fog  hang 
ing  low,  and  feathery  flakes  were  sinking  upon  the 
whitened  street.  "Listen!"  cried  the  boy,  ex 
citedly,  as  they  neared  the  Wickiup.  From  some 
where  in  the  sky  came  the  faint  scream  of  a  loco 
motive  whistle.  "That's  them,  all  righto  Gee  I 
I'd  like  to  buck  snow." 

"Would  you?" 

"Would  I?    Wouldn't  you?" 

A  hundred  men  were  strung  along  the  platform, 
and  a  sharper  blast  echoed  across  the  upper  flat. 
"There  they  are!"  cried  Solomon,  pressing  for 
ward.  Gertrude  saw  a  huge  snow-covered  monster 
swing  heavily  around  the  yard  hill.  The  ploughs 
were  at  hand.  The  head  engine  whistled  again, 
those  in  the  battery  took  up  the  signal,  and  heeled 
in  snow  they  bore  down  on  the  Wickiup  whistling  a 
chorus.  Before  the  long  battery  had  halted,  the 
men  about  Gertrude  were  running  toward  the  cabs, 
cheering.  Many  men  poured  out  of  the  battered 
ice-bound  cars  at  the  end  of  the  string.  While 
Gertrude's  eyes  strained  with  expectation  a  collie 
dog  shot  headlong  to  the  platform  from  the  steps 

220 


Suspense 

of  the  hind  caboose,  and  wheeling  about,  barked 
madly  until,  last  of  three  men  together,  Glover, 
carrying  his  little  bag,  swung  down,  and  listening 
to  his  companions,  walked  leisurely  forward. 

Swayed  by  the  excitement  which  she  did  not 
fully  understand  all  about  her,  Gertrude,  with 
swimming  eyes,  saw  Solomon  dash  toward  Glover 
and  catch  his  bag.  As  the  boy  spoke  to  him  she 
saw  Glover's  head  lift  in  the  deliberate  surprise 
she  knew  so  well.  She  felt  his  wandering  eyes 
bend  upon  her,  and  his  hand  rose  in  suppressed 
joyfulness. 

Doubt,  care,  anxiety,  fled  before  that  gesture. 
Stumah,  wild  with  delight,  bounded  at  her,  and 
before  she  could  greet  him,  Glover,  a  giant  in  his 
wrappings,  was  bending  over  her,  his  eyes  burning 
through  the  veil  that  hid  her  own.  She  heard  with 
out  comprehending  his  words;  she  asked  questions 
without  knowing  she  asked,  because  his  hand  so 
tightly  clasped  hers. 

They  walked  up  the  platform  and  he  stopped 
but  once;  to  speak  to  the  snugly  clad  man  that  got 
down  from  the  head  engine.  Gertrude  recognized 
the  good-natured  profile  under  the  long  cap ;  Paddy 
McGraw  lifted  his  visor  as  she  advanced  and  with 
a  happy  laugh  greeted  him. 

Smiling  at  her  welcome  he  drew  off  his  glove 
and  took  from  an  inner  pocket  her  ring  and  held 

221 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

it  out  on  his  hand.  "I  am  taking  good  care  of  my 
souvenir." 

"I  hope  you  are  taking  good  care  of  yourself," 
Gertrude  responded,  "because  every  time  I  ride  in 
the  mountains,  Mr.  McGraw,  I  want  you  for  en 
gineer." 

Glover  was  saying  something  to  her  as  they 
turned  away  together,  but  she  gave  no  heed  to  his 
meaning.  She  caught  only  the  low,  pretty  uncer 
tainty  in  his  utterance,  the  unfailing  little  break 
that  she  loved  in  his  tone. 

He  was  saying,  "Yes — some  of  it  thirty  feet. 
Morris  Blood  is  tunnelling  on  the  Pilot  branch  this 
morning;  it's  bad  up  there,  but  the  main  line  is 
clear  from  end  to  end.  Surely,  you  never  looked 
so  sweet  in  your  life.  Gertrude,  Gertrude,  you're 
a  beautiful  girl.  Do  you  know  that?  What  are 
those  fellows  shouting  about?  Me?  Not  at  all. 
They're  cheering  you." 


222 


CHAPTER   XX 

DEEPENING    WATERS 

THE  stolen  interview  of  the  early  morning  was 
the  consolation  of  the  day.  Gertrude  con 
fided  a  resolve  to  Glover.  She  had  thought  it  all 
out  and  he  must,  she  said,  talk  to  her  father. 
Nothing  would  ever  ever  come  of  a  situation  in 
which  the  two  never  met.  The  terrible  problem 
was  how  to  arrange  the  interview.  Her  father 
had  already  declined  to  meet  Glover  at  all. 
Moreover,  Mr.  Brock  had  a  fund  of  silence 
that  approximated  absolute  zero,  and  Gertrude 
dreaded  the  result  if  Glover,  in  presenting  his  case, 
should  stop  at  any  point  and  succumb  to  the  chill. 

During  such  intervals  as  they  managed  to  meet, 
the  lovers  could  discuss  nothing  but  the  crisis  that 
confronted  them.  The  definite  clearing  of  the  line 
meant  perhaps  an  early  separation  and  something 
must  be  done,  if  ever,  at  once. 

In  the  evening  Gertrude  made  a  long  appeal  to 
her  aunt  to  intercede  for  her,  and  another  to 
Marie,  who,  softening  somewhat,  had  spent  half 
an  hour  before  dinner  in  discussing  the  situation 
calmly  with  Glover;  but  over  the  proposed  inter- 

223 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

view  Marie  shook  her  head.  She  had  great  in 
fluence  with  her  father,  but  candidly  owned  she 
should  dread  facing  him  on  a  matter  he  had  defi 
nitely  declined  to  discuss. 

They  parted  at  night  without  light  on  their 
difficulties.  In  the  morning  Glover  made  several 
ineffectual  efforts  to  see  Gertrude  early.  He  had 
an  idea  that  they  had  forgotten  the  one  who  could 
advise  and  help  them  better  than  any  other — his 
friend  and  patron,  Bucks. 

The  second  vice-president  was  now  closer  in  a 
business  way  to  Mr.  Brock  than  anyone  else  in 
the  world.  They  were  friends  of  very  early  days, 
of  days  when  they  were  laying  together  the  foun 
dations  of  their  careers.  It  was  Bucks  who  had 
shown  Mr.  Brock  the  stupendous  possibilities  in 
reorganizing  the  system,  who  was  responsible  for 
his  enormous  investment,  and  each  reposed  in  the 
other  entire  confidence.  Gertrude  constantly  con 
tended  that  it  was  only  a  question  of  her  father's 
really  knowing  Glover,  and  that  if  her  lover  could 
be  put,  as  she  knew  him,  before  her  father,  he 
must  certainly  give  way.  Why  not,  then,  take 
Bucks  into  their  confidence? 

It  seemed  like  light  from  heaven  to  Glover,  and 
he  was  talking  to  Gertrude  when  there  came  a  rap 
at  the  door  of  the  parlor  and  a  messenger  entered 
with  a  long  despatch  from  Callahan  at  Sleepy  Cat. 

224 


Deepening  Waters 

The  message  was  marked  delayed  in  transmis 
sion.  Glover  walked  with  it  to  the  window  and 
read:  . 

"Doubleday's  outfit  wrecked  early  this  morning 
on  Pilot  Hill  while  bucking.  Head  engine,  the 
927,  McGraw,  partly  off  track.  Tender  crushed 
the  cab.  Doubleday  instantly  killed  and  McGraw 
badly  hurt.  Morris  Blood  is  reported  to  have 
been  in  the  cab  also,  but  cannot  be  found.  Have 
sent  Doubleday  and  McGraw  to  Medicine  Bend 
in  my  car  and  am  starting  with  wrecking  crew  for 
the  Hill." 

"What  is  it?"  murmured  Gertrude,  watching 
her  lover's  face.  He  studied  the  telegram  a  long 
time  and  she  came  to  his  side.  He  raised  his  eyes 
from  the  paper  in  his  hand  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  "What  is  it?"  she  whispered. 

"Pilot  Hill." 

"I  do  not  understand,  dearest." 

"A  wreck." 

"Oh,  is  it  serious?" 

His  eyes  fell  again  on  the  death  message. 
"Morris  Blood  was  in  it  and  they  can't  find 
him." 

"Oh,  oh." 

"A  bad  place;  a  bad,  bad  place."  He  spoke, 
absently,  then  his  eyes  turned  upon  her  with  in 
expressible  tenderness. 

225 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"But  why  can't  they  find  him,  dearest?" 

"The  track  is  blasted  out  of  the  mountain  side 
for  half  a  mile.  Bucks  said  it  would  be  a  grave 
yard,  but  I  couldn't  get  to  the  mines  in  any  other 
way.  Gertrude,  I  must  go  to  the  Wickiup  at  once 
to  get  further  news.  This  message  has  been  de 
layed,  the  wires  are  not  right  yet." 

"Will  you  come  back  soon?" 

"Just  the  minute  I  can  get  definite  news  about 
Morris.  In  half  an  hour,  probably." 

She  tried  to  comfort  him  when  he  left  her.  She 
knew  of  the  deep  attachment  between  the  two  men, 
and  she  encouraged  her  lover  to  hope  for  the  best. 
Not  until  he  had  gone  did  she  fully  realize  how 
deeply  he  was  moved.  At  the  window  she 
watched  him  walk  hurriedly  down  the  street,  and 
as  he  disappeared,  reflected  that  she  had  never 
seen  such  an  expression  on  his  face  as  when  he  read 
the  telegram. 

The  half  hour  went  while  she  reflected.  Going 
downstairs  she  found  the  news  of  the  wreck  had 
spread  about  the  hotel,  and  widely  exaggerated 
accounts  of  the  disaster  were  being  discussed. 
Mrs.  Whitney  and  Marie  were  out  sleighriding, 
and  by  the  time  the  half  hour  had  passed  without 
word  from  Glover,  Gertrude  gave  way  to  her  rest 
lessness.  She  had  a  telegram  to  send  to  New 
York — an  order  for  bonbons — and  she  determined 

226 


Deepening  Waters 

to  walk  down  to  the  Wickiup  to  send  it;  she 
might,  she  thought,  see  Glover  and  hear  his  news 
sooner. 

When  she  approached  the  headquarters  build 
ing  unusual  numbers  of  railroad  men  were  grouped 
on  the  platform,  talking.  Messengers  hurried  to 
and  from  the  roundhouse.  A  blown  engine  attached 
to  a  day  coach  was  standing  near  and  men  were 
passing  in  and  out  of  the  car.  Gertrude  made  her 
way  to  the  stairs  unobserved,  walked  leisurely  up 
to  the  telegraph  office  and  sent  her  message.  The 
long  corridors  of  the  building,  gloomy  even  on 
bright  days,  were  quite  dark  as  she  left  the  opera 
tors'  room  and  walked  slowly  toward  the  quarters 
of  the  construction  department. 

The  door  of  the  large  anteroom  was  open  and 
the  room  empty.  Gertrude  entered  hesitatingly 
and  looked  toward  Glover's  office.  His  door  also 
was  ajar,  but  no  one  was  within.  The  sound  of 
voices  came  from  a  connecting  room  and  she  at 
once  distinguished  Glover's  tones.  It  was  justifica 
tion  :  with  her  coin  purse  she  tapped  lightly  on  the 
door  casing,  and  getting  no  response  stepped  in 
side  the  office  and  slipped  into  a  chair  beside  his 
desk  to  await  him.  The  voices  came  from  a  room 
leading  to  Callahan's  apartments. 

Glover  was  asking  questions,  and  a  man  whose 
voice  she  could  now  hear  breaking  with  sobs,  was 

227 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

answering.  "Are  you  sure  your  signals  were 
right?"  she  heard  Glover  ask  slowly  and  earnestly; 
and  again,  patiently,  "how  could  you  be  doubled 
up  without  the  Hanger's  leaving  the  track?"  Then 
the  man  would  repeat  his  story. 

"You  must  have  had  too  much  behind  you," 
Glover  said  once. 

"Too  much?"  echoed  the  man,  frantically. 
"Seven  engines  behind  us  all  day  yesterday.  Paddy 
told  him  the  minute  he  got  in  the  cab  she  wouldn't 
never  stand  it.  He  told  him  it  as  plain  as  a  man 
could  tell  a  man.  Then  because  we  went  through 
a  thousand  feet  in  the  gap  like  cheese  he  ordered 
us  up  the  hill.  When  we  struck  the  big  drift  it 
was  slicing  rock,  Mr.  Glover.  Paddy  told  him  she 
wouldn't  never  stand  it.  The  very  first  push  we 
let  go  in  a  hundred  feet  with  the  engine  churning 
her  damned  drivers  off.  We  went  into  it  twice 
that  way.  I  could  see  it  was  shoving  the  tender 
up  in  the  air  every  time  and  told  Doubleday — oh, 
if  you'd  been  there !  The  next  time  we  sent  the 
plough  through  the  first  crust  and  drove  a  wind- 
pocket  maybe  forty  or  fifty  yards  and  hit  the  ice 
with  the  seven  engines  jamming  into  us.  My 
God!  she  doubled  up  like  a  jack-knife — Pat,  Pat, 
Pat." 

"Can  you  recollect  where  Blood  was  standing 
when  you  buckled?" 

228 


Deepening  Waters 

"In  the  right  gangway."  There  was  a  pause. 
"He  must  have  dropped,"  she  heard  Glover  say. 

"Then  he'll  never  drop  again,  Mr.  Glover,  for 
if  he  slipped  off  the  ties  he'd  drop  a  thousand 
feet." 

"The  heaviest  snow  is  right  at  the  top  of  the 
hill?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"If  we  can  cross  the  hill  we  can  find  him  any 
way." 

"Don't  try  to  get  across  that  hill  till  you  put 
in  five  hundred  shovellers,  Mr.  Glover." 

"That  would  take  a  week.  If  he's  alive  we 
must  get  him  within  twenty-four  hours.  He  may 
freeze  to  death  to-night." 

"Don't  try  to  cross  that  hill  with  a  plough,  Mr. 
Glover.  Mind  my  words.  It's  no  use.  I've 
bucked  with  you  many  a  time — you  know  that." 

"Yes." 

"You're  going  to  your  death  when  you  try 
that." 

"There's  the  doctor  now,  Foley,"  Glover  an 
swered.  "Let  him  look  you  over  carefully.  Come 
this  way." 

The  voices  receded.  Listening  to  the  talk,  little 
of  which  she  understood,  a  growing  fear  had  come 
over  Gertrude.  Her  eyes  had  pierced  the  gray 
light  about  her,  and  as  she  heard  Glover  walk 

229 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

away  she  rose  hurriedly  and  stepped  to  the  doorway 
to  detain  him.  Glover  had  disappeared,  but  be 
fore  her,  stretched  on  the  couch  back  of  the  table, 
lay  McGraw.  She  knew  him  instantly,  and  so 
strangely  did  the  gloom  shroud  his  features  that 
his  steady  eyes  seemed  looking  straight  at  her. 
She  divined  that  he  had  been  brought  back  hurt. 
A  chill  passed  over  her,  a  horror.  She  hesitated 
a  moment,  and,  fascinated,  stepped  closer ;  then  she 
knew  she  was  staring  at  the  dead. 

Terror-stricken  and  with  sinking  strength  she 
made  her  way  to  the  hotel  and  slipped  up  to  the 
parlor.  Throwing  off  her  wraps  she  went  to  the 
window ;  Glover  was  coming  up  the  street.  There 
was  only  a  moment  in  which  to  collect  herself. 
She  hastened  to  her  bedroom,  wet  her  forehead 
with  cologne,  and  at  her  mirror  her  fingers  ran 
tremblingly  over  the  coils  of  her  hair.  She  caught 
up  a  fresh  handkerchief  for  her  girdle,  looked 
for  an  instant  appealingly  into  her  own  eyes  and 
closed  them  to  think.  Glover  rapped. 

She  met  him  with  a  smile  that  she  knew  would 
stagger  his  fond  eyes.  She  drugged  his  ear  with 
a  low-voiced  greeting.  "You  are  late,  dearest." 

He  looked  at  her  and  caught  her  hands.  As  his 
head  bent  she  let  her  lips  lie  in  his  kiss,  and  let 
his  arm  find  her  waist  as  he  kissed  her  deeply 

230 


Deepening  Waters 

again.  They  walked  together  toward  the  fire 
place,  and  when  she  saw  the  sadness  of  his  face 
fear  in  her  heart  gave  way  to  pity.  "What  is  it?" 
she  whispered.  "Tell  me." 

"The  car  has  come  with  Doubleday  and 
McGraw,  Gertrude.  The  wreck  was  terribly 
fatal.  Morris  Blood  must  have  jumped  from  the 
cab.  The  track  I  have  told  you  is  blasted  there 
out  of  the  cheek  of  the  mountain,  and  it's  impos 
sible  to  tell  what  his  fate  may  be:  but  if  he  is 
alive  I  must  find  him.  There  is  a  good  hope,  I 
believe,  for  Morris;  he  is  a  man  to  squeeze 
through  on  a  narrow  chance.  And  Gertrude — I 
couldn't  tell  you  if  I  didn't  think  you  had  a  right 
to  know  everything  I  know.  It  breaks  my  heart 
to  speak  of  it — McGraw  is  dead." 

"I  am  so  glad  you  told  me  the  truth,"  she 
trembled,  "for  I  knew  it " 

"Knew  it?"  She  confessed,  hastily,  how  her 
anxiety  had  led  her  to  his  office,  and  of  the  terri 
ble  shock  she  had  brought  on  herself.  "But  now 
I  know  you  would  not  deceive  me,"  she  added; 
"that  is  why  I  love  you,  because  you  are  always 
honest  and  true.  And  do  you  love  me,  as  you  have 
told  me,  more  than  all  the  world?" 

"More  than  all  the  world,  Gertrude.  Why  do 
you  look  so?  You  are  trembling." 

"Have  you  come  to  say  good-by?" 
231 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"Only  for  a  day  or  two,  darling:  till  I  can  find 
Morris,  then  I  come  straight  back  to  you." 

"You,  too,  may  be  killed?" 

"No,  no." 

"But  I  heard  the  man  telling  you  you  would 
go  to  your  death  if  you  attempted  to  cross  that 
hill  with  a  plough.  Be  honest  with  me;  you  are 
risking  your  life." 

"Only  as  I  have  risked  it  almost  every  day  since 
I  came  into  the  mountains." 

"But  now — now — doesn't  it  mean  something 
else?  Think  what  it  means  to  me — your  life. 
Think  what  will  become  of  me  if  you  should  be 
killed  in  trying  to  open  that  hill — if  you  should 
fall  over  a  precipice  as  Morris  Blood  has  fallen 
and  lies  now  probably  dead.  Don't  go.  Don't  go, 
this  time.  You  have  promised  me  you  would  leave 
the  mountains,  haven't  you  ?  Don't  risk  all,  dear 
est,  all  I  have  on  earth,  in  an  attempt  that  may 
utterly  fail  and  add  one  more  precious  life  to  the 
lives  now  sacrificed.  You  do  heed  me,  darling, 
don't  you?" 

She  had  disengaged  herself  to  plead;  to  look 
directly  up  into  his  perplexed  eyes.  He  leaned  an 
arm  on  the  mantel,  staggered.  His  eyes  followed 
hers  in  every  word  she  spoke,  and  when  she  ceased 
he  stared  blankly  at  the  fire. 

"Heed  you?"  he  answered,  haltingly.  "Heed 
232 


Deepening  Waters 

you?  You  are  all  in  the  world  that  I  have  to 
heed.  My  only  wish  is  your  happiness;  to  die  for 
it,  Gertrude,  wouldn't  be  much 

"All,  all  I  ask  is  that  you  will  live  for  it." 

"Worthless  as  I  am,  I  have  asked  you  to  put 
that  happiness  in  my  keeping — do  you  think  your 
lightest  word  could  pass  me  unheeded?  But  to 
this,  my  dearest  Gertrude,  every  instinct  of  man 
hood  binds  me — to  go  to  my  friend  in  danger." 

"If  you  go  you  will  take  every  desperate 
chance  to  accomplish  your  end.  Ah,  I  know 
you  better  than  you  know  yourself.  Ab,  Ab, 
my  darling,  my  lover,  listen  to  me.  Don't; 
don't  go." 

When  he  spoke  she  would  not  have  known  his 
voice.  "Can  I  let  him  die  there  like  a  dog  on  the 
mountain  side?  Can't  you  see  what  I  haven't 
words  to  explain  as  you  could  explain — the 
position  it  puts  me  in?  Don't  sob.  Don't  be 
afraid;  look  at  me.  I'll  come  back  to  you, 
darling." 

She  turned  her  tearless  eyes  to  the  mountains. 
"Back !  Yes.  I  see  the  end.  My  lover  will  come 
back — come  back  dead.  And  I  shall  try  to  kiss 
his  brave  lips  back  to  life  and  they  will  speak  no 
more.  And  I  shall  stand  when  they  take  him  from 
me,  lonely  and  alone.  My  father  that  I  have 
estranged — my  foster-mother  that  I  have  with- 

233 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

stood — my  sister  that  I  have  repelled — will  their 
tears  flow  for  me  then?  And  for  this  I  broke 
from  my  traditions  and  cast  away  associations, 
gave  up  all  my  little  life,  stood  alone  against  my 
family,  poured  out  my  heart  to  these  deserts,  these 
mountains,  and  now — they  rob  me  of  my  all — and 
this  is  love!" 

He  stood  like  a  broken  man.  "God  help  me, 
have  I  laid  on  your  dear  head  the  curse  of  my  own 
life?  Must  you,  too,  suffer  because  our  perils 
force  us  lightly  to  pawn  our  lives  one  for  another? 
One  night  in  that  yard" — he  pointed  to  the  win 
dow — "I  stood  between  the  rails  with  a  switch 
engine  running  me  down.  I  knew  nothing  of  it. 
There  was  no  time  to  speak,  no  time  to  think — it 
was  on  me.  Had  Blood  left  me  there  one  second 
I  never  should  have  looked  into  your  dear  face. 
Up  on  the  hill  with  Hailey  and  Brodie,  under  the 
gravel  and  shale,  I  should  never  have  cost  your 
heart  an  ache  like  this.  Better  the  engine  had 
struck  me  then  and  spared  you  now ' 

"No,  I  say,  no !"  she  exclaimed,  wildly.  "Bet 
ter  this  moment  together  than  a  lifetime  apart!" 

" — For  me  he  threw  himself  in  front  of  the 
drivers.  This  moment  is  mine  and  yours  because 
he  gave  his  right  hand  for  it — shall  I  desert  him 
now  he  needs  me?  And  so  a  hundred  times  and 
in  a  hundred  ways  we  gamble  with  death  and 

234 


Deepening   Waters 

laugh  if  we  cheat  it :  and  our  poor  reward  is  only 
sometimes  to  win  where  far  better  men  have  failed. 
So  in  this  railroad  life  two  men  stand,  as  he  and 
I  have  stood,  luck  or  ill-luck,  storm  or  fair 
weather,  together.  And  death  speaks  for  one; 
and  whichever  he  calls  it  is  ever  the  other  must 
answer.  And  this — is  duty." 

"Then  do  your  duty." 

Distinctly,  and  terrifying  in  their  unexpected 
ness,  came  the  words  from  the  farther  end  of  the 
parlor.  They  turned,  stunned.  Gertrude's  father 
was  crossing  the  room.  He  raised  his  hand  to  dis 
pel  Glover's  sudden  angry  look.  "I  was  lying  on 
the  couch;  your  voices  roused  me  and  I  could  not 
escape.  You  have  put  clearly  the  case  you  stand 
in,"  he  spoke  to  Glover,  "and  I  have  intervened 
only  to  spare  both  of  you  useless  agony  of  argu 
ment.  The  question  that  concerns  you  two  and  me 
is  not  at  this  moment  up  for  decision;  the  other 
question  is,  and  it  is  for  you,  my  daughter,  now, 
to  play  the  woman.  I  have  tried  as  I  could  to 
shield  you  from  rough  weather.  You  have  left 
port  without  consulting  me,  and  the  storms  of 
womanhood  are  on  you.  Sir,  when  do  you 
start?" 

"My  engine  is  waiting." 

"Then  ask  your  people  to  attach  my  car.  You 
can  make  equally  good  time,  and  since  for  better 

235 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

or  worse  we  have  cut  into  this  game  we  will  see 
it  out  together." 

Gertrude  threw  her  arms  around  her  father's 
neck  with  a  happy  sob  as  Glover  left.  "Oh, 
daddy,  daddy.  If  you  only  knew  him!" 


236 


CHAPTER   XXI 

PILOT 

"/"  I  "MiERE  are  mountains  a  man  can  do  busi- 
A  ness  with,"  muttered  Bucks  in  the  private 
car,  his  mustache  drooping  broadly  above  his  re 
flecting  words.  "Mountains  that  will  give  and 
take  once  in  a  while,  play  fair  occasionally.  But 
Pilot  has  fought  us  every  inch  of  the  way  since 
the  day  we  first  struck  a  pick  into  it.  It  is  savage 
and  unrelenting.  I'd  rather  negotiate  with  Sitting 
Bull  for  a  right  of  way  through  his  private  bath 
room  than  to  ask  an  easement  from  Pilot  for  a 
tamarack  tie.  I  don't  know  why  it  was  ever 
called  Pilot:  if  I  named  it,  it  should  be  Sitting  Bull. 
What  the  Sioux  were  to  the  white  men,  what  the 
Spider  Water  is  to  the  bridgemen,  that,  and  more, 
Pilot  has  been  to  the  mountain  men. 

"There  was  no  compromise  with  Pilot  even 
after  we  got  in  on  it.  Snowslides,  washouts, 
bowlders,  forest-fires — and  yet  the  richest  quartz 
mines  in  the  world  lie  behind  it.  This  little  branch, 
Mr.  Brock,  forty-eight  miles,  pays  the  operating 
expenses  of  the  whole  mountain  division,  and  has 

237 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

done  so  almost  since  the  day  it  was  opened.  But 
I'd  rather  lose  the  revenue  ten  times  every  year 
than  to  lose  Morris  Blood."  The  second  vice- 
president  was  talking  to  Mr.  Brock.  Their  car 
was  just  rounding  the  curve  into  the  gap  in  front 
of  Mount  Pilot. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Blood's  chances?"  asked 
Mr.  Brock. 

"I  don't  know.  A  mountain  man  has  nine 
lives." 

"What  does  Glover  think?" 

"He  doesn't  say." 

"Who  built  this  line?" 

"Two  pretty  good  men  ran  the  first  thirty  miles, 
but  neither  of  them  could  give  me  a  practicable 
line  south  of  the  gap;  this  last  eighteen  miles  up 
and  down  and  around  Pilot  was  Glover's  first  work 
in  the  mountains.  It's  engineering.  Every  trick 
ever  played  in  the  Rockies,  and  one  or  two  of 
Brodie's  old  combinations  in  the  Andes,  they  tell 
me,  are  crowded  into  these  eighteen  miles.  There, 
there's  old  Sitting  Bull  in  all  his  clouds  and  his 
glory." 

Glover  had  left  the  car  at  Sleepy  Cat,  going 
ahead  with  the  relief  train.  Picked  men  from 
every  district  on  the  division  had  been  assembling 
all  the  afternoon  to  take  up  the  search  for  the 
missing  superintendent.  Section  men  from  the 

238 


Pilot 

Sweetgrass  wastes,  and  bridgemen  from  the  foot 
hills,  roadmasters  from  the  Heart  Mountains — 
home  of  the  storm  and  the  snow — and  Rat  Canon 
trackwalkers  that  could  spot  a  break  in  the  dark 
under  twelve  inches  of  ballast;  Morgan,  the 
wrecker,  and  his  men,  and  the  mountain  linemen 
with  their  foreman,  old  Bill  Dancing — fiend  drunk 
and  giant  sober — were  scattered  on  Mount  Pilot, 
while  a  rotary  ahead  of  a  battery  of  big  engines 
was  shoved  again  and  again  up  the  snow-covered 
hill. 

Anxious  to  get  the  track  open  in  the  belief  that 
Blood  could  best  be  got  at  from  beyond  the  S 
bridge,  Glover,  standing  with  the  branch  road- 
master,  Smith  Young,  on  the  ledge  above  the  en 
gines  directed  the  fight  for  the  hill.  He  had 
promised  Gertrude  he  would  keep  out  of  the  cab, 
and  far  across  the  curve  below  he  could  see  the 
Brock  car,  where  Bucks  was  directing  the  search 
on  the  eastern  side  of  the  gulch. 

Callahan  and  the  linemen  were  spreading  both 
ways  through  the  timber  on  the  plateau  opposite, 
but  the  snow  made  the  work  extremely  difficult, 
and  the  short  day  allowed  hardly  more  than  a 
start.  On  the  hill  Glover's  men  advanced  barely 
a  hundred  feet  in  three  hours:  darkness  spread 
over  the  range  with  no  sign  of  the  missing  man, 
and  with  the  forebodings  that  none  could  shake 

239 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

off  of  what  the  night's  exposure,  even  if  he  were 
uninjured,  might  mean. 

Supper  was  served  to  the  men  in  the  relief 
trains,  and  outside  fires  were  forbidden  by  Glover, 
who  asked  that  every  foot  of  the  track  as  far  as 
the  gap  be  patrolled  all  night. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  Glover,  supper- 
less,  reached  the  car  with  his  dispositions  made  for 
the  night.  While  he  talked  with  the  men,  Clem, 
the  star  cook  of  the  Brock  family,  under  special 
orders  grilled  a  big  porterhouse  steak  and  pres 
ently  asked  him  back  to  the  dining-table,  where, 
behind  the  shaded  candles,  Gertrude  waited. 

They  sat  down  opposite  each  other ;  but  not  un 
til  Glover  saw  there  were  two  plates  instead  of 
one,  and  learned  that  Gertrude  had  eaten  no 
dinner  because  she  was  waiting  for  him,  did  he 
mutter  something  about  all  that  an  American  girl 
is  capable  of  in  the  way  of  making  a  man  grateful 
and  happy.  There  was  nothing  to  hurry  them 
back  to  the  other  end  of  the  car,  and  they  did  not 
rejoin  Mr.  Brock  and  Bucks,  who  were  smoking 
forward,  until  eleven  o'clock.  Callahan  came  in 
afterward,  and  sitting  together  Mr.  Brock  and 
Gertrude  listened  while  the  three  railroad  men 
planned  the  campaign  for  the  next  day. 

Parting  late,  Glover  said  good-night  and  left 
with  Callahan  to  inspect  the  rotary.  The  fearful 

240 


Pilot 

punishment  of  the  day's  work  on  the  knives  had 
shown  itself,  and  since  dark,  relays  of  mechanics 
from  the  Sleepy  Cat  shops  had  been  busy  with 
the  cutting  gear,  and  the  companion  plough  had 
already  been  ordered  in  from  the  eighth  district. 

Glover  returned  to  the  car  at  one  o'clock.  The 
lights  were  low,  and  Clem,  a  night-owl,  fixed  him 
in  a  chair  near  the  door.  For  an  hour  everything 
was  very  still,  then  Gertrude,  sleeping  lightly, 
heard  voices.  Glover  walked  back  past  the  com 
partments;  she  heard  him  asking  Clem  for  brandy 
— Bill  Dancing,  the  lineman,  had  come  with  news. 

The  negro  brought  forward  a  decanter  and 
Glover  poured  a  gobletful  for  the  old  man,  who 
shook  from  the  chill  of  the  night  air. 

"The  boys  claim  it's  imagination,"  Dancing, 
steadied  by  the  alcohol,  continued,  "but  it's  a  fire 
way  over  below  the  second  bridge.  I've  watched 
it  for  an  hour;  now  you  come." 

They  went  away  and  were  gone  a  long  time. 
Glover  returned  alone — Clem  had  disappeared; 
a  girlish  figure  glided  out  of  the  gloom  to  meet 
him. 

"I  couldn't  sleep,"  she  whispered.  "I  heard  you 
leave  and  dressed  to  wait."  She  looked  in  the  dim 
light  as  slight  as  a  child,  and  with  his  hand  at  her 
waist  he  sunk  on  his  knee  to  look  up  into  her  face. 
"How  can  I  deserve  it  all?" 

241 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

She  blinded  his  upturned  eyes  in  her  hands,  and 
not  until  she  found  her  fingers  were  wet  did  she  un 
derstand  all  he  had  tried  to  put  into  his  words. 

"Have  you  any  news?"  she  murmured,  as  he 
rose. 

"I  believe  they  have  found  him." 

She  clasped  her  hands.  "Heaven  be  praised. 
Oh,  is  it  sure?" 

"I  mean,  Dancing,  the  old  lineman,  has  seen  his 
fire.  At  least,  we  are  certain  of  it.  We  have  been 
watching  it  two  hours.  It's  a  speck  of  a  blaze 
away  across  toward  the  mines.  It  never  grows 
nor  lessens,  just  a  careful  little  campfire  where  fuel 
is  scarce — as  it  is  now  with  all  the  snow.  We've 
lighted  a  big  beacon  on  the  hill  for  an  answer, 
and  at  daybreak  we  shall  go  after  him.  The 
planning  is  all  done  and  I  am  free  now  till  we're 
ready  to  start." 

She  tried  to  make  him  lie  down  for  a  nap  on 
the  couch.  He  tried  to  persuade  her  to  retire  until 
morning,  and  in  sweet  contention  they  sat  talking 
low  of  their  love  and  their  happiness — and  of 
the  hills  a  reckless  girl  romped  over  in  old  Alle 
gheny,  and  of  the  shingle  gunboats  a  sleepy-eyed 
boy  launched  in  dauntless  fleets  upon  the  yellow 
eddies  of  the  Mississippi;  and  of  the  chance  that 
should  one  day  bring  boy  and  girl  together,  lovers, 
On  the  crest  of  the  far  Rockies. 

242 


Pilot 

Lights  were  moving  up  and  down  the  hill  when 
they  rose  from  Clem's  astonishing  breakfast. 

"You  will  be  careful,"  she  said.  He  had  taken 
her  in  his  arms  at  the  door,  and  promising  he 
kissed  her  and  whispered  good-by. 


243 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE    SOUTH    ARETE 

THEY  had  planned  a  quick  relief  with  a  small 
party,  for  every  hour  of  exposure  lessened 
the  missing  man's  chances.  Glover  chose  for  his 
companions  two  men :  Dancing — far  and  away  the 
best  climber  in  the  telegraph  corps,  and  Smith 
Young,  roadmaster,  a  chainman  of  Glover's  when 
he  ran  the  Pilot  line.  Dancing  and  Glover  were 
large  men  of  unusual  strength,  and  Young,  lighter 
and  smaller,  had  been  known  in  a  pinch  to  handle 
an  ordinary  steel  rail.  But  above  everything  each — 
even  Glover,  the  youngest — was  a  man  of  resource 
and  experience  in  mountain  craft. 

They  left  the  track  near  the  twin  bridges  with 
only  ropes  and  picks  and  skis,  and  carrying  stimu 
lants  and  food.  Without  any  attempt  to  catch  his 
trail  from  where  they  knew  Blood  must  have 
started  they  made  their  way  as  directly  as  possible 
down  the  side  of  the  mountain  and  in  the  direction 
of  the  gap.  The  stupendous  difficulties  of  mak 
ing  headway  across  the  eastern  slope  did  not  be 
come  apparent  until  the  rescuing  party  was  out  of 

244 


The  South  Arete 

sight  of  those  they  had  left,  but  from  where  they 
floundered  in  ragged  washouts  or  spread  in  line 
over  glassy  escarpments  they  could  see  far  up  the 
mountain  the  rotary  throwing  a  white  cloud  into 
the  sunshine  and  hear  the  far-off  clamor  of  the 
engines  on  the  hill. 

Below  the  snow-field  which  they  crossed  they 
found  the  superintendent's  trail,  and  saw  that  his 
effort  had  been  to  cross  the  gap  at  that  point  and 
make  his  way  out  toward  the  western  grade,  where 
an  easy  climb  would  have  brought  him  to  the 
track;  or  where  by  walking  some  distance  he  could 
reach  the  track  without  climbing  a  foot,  the  grade 
there  being  nearly  four  per  cent. 

They  saw,  too,  why  he  had  been  forced  to  give 
up  that  hope,  for  what  would  have  been  difficult 
for  three  fresh  men  with  shoes  was  an  impossi 
bility  for  a  spent  man  in  the  snow  alone.  They 
knew  that  what  they  had  covered  in  two  hours  had 
probably  cost  him  ten,  for  before  they  had  fol 
lowed  him  a  dozen  feet  they  saw  that  he  was  drag 
ging  a  leg;  farther,  the  snow  showed  stains  and 
they  crossed  a  field  where  he  had  sat  down  and 
bandaged  his  leg  after  it  had  bled  for  a  hundred 
yards. 

The  trail  began,  as  they  went  on,  to  lose  its 
character.  Whether  from  weakness  or  uncer 
tainty  Blood's  steps  had  become  wandering,  and 

245 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

they  noticed  that  he  paid  less  attention  to  direct- 
ness,  but  shunned  every  obstacle  that  called  for 
climbing,  struggling  great  distances  around  rough 
places  to  avoid  them.  They  knew  it  meant  that 
he  was  husbanding  failing  strength  and  was  striv 
ing  to  avoid  reopening  his  wound. 

Twice  they  marked  places  in  which  he  had  sat 
to  adjust  his  bandages,  and  the  strain  of  what 
they  read  in  the  snow  quickened  their  anxiety. 
Since  that  day  Smith  Young,  superintendent  now 
of  the  mountain  division,  has  never  hunted,  because 
he  could  never  afterward  follow  the  trail  of  a 
wounded  animal. 

They  found  places  where  he  had  hunted  for 
fuel,  and  firing  signals  regularly  they  reached  the 
spot  where  he  had  camped  the  night  before,  and 
saw  the  ashes  of  his  fire.  He  was  headed  south; 
not  because  there  was  more  hope  that  way — there 
was  less — but  as  if  he  must  keep  moving,  and  that 
were  easiest.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  below  where  he 
had  spent  the  night  they  caught  sight  of  a  man 
sitting  on  a  fallen  tree  resting  his  leg.  The  next 
moment  three  men  were  in  a  tumbling  race  across 
the  slope,  and  Blood,  weakly  hurrahing,  fainted  in 
Glover's  arms. 

His  story  was  short.  He  reminded  his  rescuers 
of  the  little  spring  on  the  hill  at  the  point  where 

246 


The  South  Arete 

the  wreck  had  occurred.  The  ice  that  always 
spread  across  the  track  and  over  the  edge  of  the 
gulch  had  been  chopped  out  by  the  shovellers  the 
afternoon  before,  but  water  trickling  from  the 
rock  had  laid  a  fresh  trap  for  unwary  feet  during 
the  night.  In  jumping  from  the  gangway  at  the 
moment  of  the  wreck  Blood's  heels  had  landed  on 
smooth  ice  and  he  had  tumbled  and  slid  six  hun 
dred  feet.  Recovering  consciousness  at  the  bottom 
of  a  washout  he  found  the  calf  of  one  leg  ripped 
a  little,  as  he  put  it.  The  loss  of  one  side  of  his 
mustache,  swept  away  in  the  slide,  and  leaving  on 
his  face  a  peculiarly  forlorn  expression,  he  did  not 
take  account  of — declaring  on  the  whole,  as  he 
smiled  into  the  swimming  eyes  around  him,  that 
with  the  exception  of  tobacco  he  was  doing  very 
well. 

They  got  him  in  front  of  a  big  fire,  plied  him 
with  food  and  stimulants,  and  Glover,  from  a  sur 
gical  packet,  bandaged  anew  the  wound  in  his  leg. 
Then  came  the  question  of  retreat. 

They  discussed  two  plans.  The  first  to  retrace 
their  steps  entirely;  the  second,  to  go  back  to  where 
the  gap  could  be  attempted  and  the  western  track 
gained  below  the  hill.  Each  meant  long  and 
severe  climbing,  each  presented  its  particular  diffi 
culties,  and  three  men  of  the  four  felt  that  if  the 
torn  artery  opened  once  more  their  victory  would  be 

247 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

barren — that  Blood  needed  surgical  aid  promptly 
if  at  all.  But  Dancing  had  a  third  plan. 

It  was  while  they  still  consulted  at  this  point 
that  their  fire  was  seen  on  Pilot  Hill  and  reported 
to  Bucks  at  the  Brock  car,  from  which  the  rapidly 
moving  party  had  been  seen  only  at  long  intervals 
during  the  morning. 

The  fire  was  the  looked-for  signal  that  the  super 
intendent  had  been  reached,  and  the  word  went 
from  group  to  group  of  men  up  the  hill.  Through 
the  strong  glass  that  Glover  had  left  with  her,  Ger 
trude  could  see  the  smoke,  and  the  storming  signals 
of  the  panting  engines  above  her  made  sweeter 
music  after  she  caught  with  her  eye  the  fainfi 
column  in  the  distant  gap.  Even  her  father,  feel 
ing  still  something  like  a  conscript,  brightened  up 
at  the  general  rejoicing.  He  had  produced  his  own 
glass  and  let  Gertrude  with  eager  prompting  help 
him  to  find  the  smoke.  The  moment  the  position 
of  Glover's  party  was  made  definite,  Bucks  ordered 
the  car  run  down  the  Hog's  Back  to  a  point  so 
much  closer  that  across  the  broad  canon,  flanking 
Pilot  on  the  south,  they  could  make  out  with  their 
glasses  the  figures  of  the  three  men  and,  when 
they  began  to  move,  the  smaller  figure  of  Morris 
Blood. 

Callahan  had  joined  his  chief  to  watch  the  situa 
tion,  and  they  speculated  as  to  how  the  four  would 

248 


The  South  Ar£te 

get  out  of  the  gulf  in  which  they  were  completely 
hemmed.  Gertrude  and  her  father  stood  near. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  bronzed  railroad  men  at 
her  side  were  like  pilot  guides  to  Gertrude.  When 
she  lost  the  wayfarers  in  the  gullies  or  along  the 
narrow  defiles  that  gave  them  passage  between 
towering  rocks,  their  eyes  restored  the  plodding 
line.  Callahan  was  the  first  to  detect  the  change 
from  the  expected  course.  "They  are  working 
east,"  said  he,  after  a  moment's  careful  observa 
tion. 

"East?"  echoed  Bucks.     "You  mean  west." 

Callahan  hung  to  his  glass.  "No,"  he  repeated, 
"east — and  south.  Here." 

Bucks  took  the  glass  and  looked  a  long  time. 
"I  do  not  understand,"  said  he;  "they  are  certainly 
working  east.  What  can  they  be  after,  east? 
Well,  they  can't  go  very  far  that  way  without 
bridging  the  Devil's  Canon.  Callahan,"  he  ex 
claimed,  with  sure  instinct,  "they  will  head  south. 
Wait  now  till  they  appear  again." 

He  relinquished  the  glass  to  explain  to  Mr. 
Brock  where  next  to  look  for  them.  There  was  a 
long  interval  during  which  they  did  not  reappear. 
Then  the  little  file  emerging  from  the  shadow  of  a 
rock  skirted  a  field  of  snow  straight  to  the  south. 
There  were  but  three  men  in  line.  One,  a  little 
ahead,  breaking  path;  following,  two  large  men 

249 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

tramping  close  together,  the  foremost  stooping 
under  the  weight  of  a  man  lying  face  upward  on 
his  back,  while  the  man  behind  supported  the  legs 
under  his  arms. 

"They  are  carrying  Morris  Blood.  He  is  hurt 
— that  was  to  be  expected.  What?"  exclaimed 
Bucks,  hardly  a  moment  afterward,  "they  are 
crossing  the  snow.  Callahan,  by  heaven,  they  are 
walking  for  the  south  side  of  Pilot,  that's  what  it 
means.  It  is  a  forced  march;  they  are  making  for 
the  mines." 

Mount  Pilot,  from  the  crest  that  divides  at 
Devil's  Gap,  rises  abruptly  in  a  three-faced  peak, 
the  pinnacle  of  which  lies  to  the  south.  Several 
hundred  feet  above  the  base  lie  the  group  of  gold 
mines  behind  the  mountain,  and  a  short  railroad 
spur  blasted  across  the  southern  face  runs  to  them 
from  Glen  Tarn.  Below,  the  mountain  wall 
breaks  in  long  steps  almost  vertically  to  the  base, 
toward  which  Glover's  party  was  heading. 

The  move  made  new  dispositions  necessary. 
Orders  flew  from  Bucks  like  curlews,  for  it  was 
more  essential  than  ever  to  open  the  hill  speedily. 

The  private  car  was  run  across  the  Hog's  Back, 
and  the  news  sent  to  the  rotary  crew  with  injunc 
tions  to  push  with  all  effort  as  far  at  least  as  the 
mine  switch,  that  help  might  be  sent  out  on  the 
spur  to  meet  the  party  on  the  climb. 

250 


The  South  Arete 

The  increased  activity  apparent  far  up  and 
down  the  mountain  as  the  word  went  round,  the 
bringing  up  of  the  last  reserve  engines  for  the  hill 
battery,  the  effort  to  get  into  communication  by 
telegraph  with  the  mine  hospital  and  Glen  Tarn 
Springs,  the  feverish  haste  of  the  officials  in  the 
car  to  make  the  new  dispositions,  all  indicated  to 
Gertrude  the  approach  of  a  crisis — the  imminence 
of  a  supreme  effort  to  save  one  life  if  the  endeavor 
enlisted  the  men  and  resources  of  the  whole  divi 
sion.  New  gangs  of  shovellers  strung  on  flat-cars 
were  being  pushed  forward.  Down  the  hill,  spent 
and  disabled  engines  were  returning  from  the 
front,  and  while  they  took  sidings,  fresh  engines, 
close-coupled,  steamed  slowly  like  leviathans  past 
them  up  the  hill. 

The  moment  the  track  was  clear,  the  private 
car  was  backed  again  down  the  ridge.  Following 
the  serpentine  winding  of  the  right  of  way,  the 
general  manager  was  able  to  run  the  car  far  around 
the  mountain,  and  it  stopped  opposite  the  southern 
face,  which  rose  across  the  broad  canon.  When 
the  party  in  the  car  got  their  glasses  fixed,  the  little 
company  beyond  the  gulf  had  begun  their  climb 
and  were  strung  like  marionettes  up  the  base  of 
Pilot. 

The  south  face  of  the  mountain,  sheer  for  nearly 
a  thousand  feet,  is  broken  by  narrow  ledges  that 

251 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

make  an  ascent  possible,  and  not  until  the  peak 
passes  the  timber  does  snow  ordinarily  find  lodg 
ment  upon  that  side.  Swept  by  the  winds  from  the 
Spanish  Sinks,  the  vertical  reaches  above  the  base 
usually  offer  no  obstruction  to  a  rapid  climb, 
though  except  perhaps  by  early  prospectors,  the 
arete  had  never  been  scaled.  Glover,  however,  in 
locating,  had  covered  every  stretch  of  the  moun 
tain  on  each  of  its  sides,  and  Dancing's  poles  and 
brackets,  like  banderillas  stung  into  the  tough  hide 
of  a  bull,  circled  Pilot  from  face  to  face.  These 
two  men  were  leading  the  ascent;  below  them  could 
be  distinguished  the  roadmaster  and  the  injured 
superintendent. 

Stripped  to  the  belt  and  lashed  in  the  party  rope, 
the  leader,  gaunt  and  sinewy,  stretched  like  an 
earthworm  up  the  face  of  the  arete — crossing,  re- 
crossing,  climbing,  retreating,  his  spiked  feet  set 
tling  warily  into  fresh  holes  below,  his  sensitive 
hands  spreading  like  feelers  high  over  the  smooth 
granite  for  new  holds  above.  Slowly,  always,  and 
with  the  deliberate  reserve  that  quieted  with  con 
fidence  the  feverish  hearts  watching  across  the 
gulf,  the  leaders  steadily  scaled  the  height  that 
separated  them  from  the  track.  Like  sailors  pa 
tiently  warping  home,  the  three  men  in  advance 
drew  and  lifted  the  fourth,  who  doughtily  helped 
himself  with  foot  and  hand  as  chance  allowed  and 

252 


The  South  Arete 

watched  patiently  from  below  while  his  comrades 
disputed  with  the  sheer  wall  for  a  new  step 
above. 

Bucks  and  Callahan,  following  every  move, 
mapped  the  situation  to  their  companions  as  its 
features  developed.  With  each  triumph  on  the 
arete,  bursts  of  commendation  and  surprise  came 
from  the  usually  taciturn  men  watching  the  strug 
gle  with  growing  wonder.  Bucks,  apprehensive  of 
delays  in  the  track-opening  on  the  hill,  sent  Calla 
han  back  in  the  car  with  instructions  to  pick  a  gang 
of  ten  men  and  pack  them  somewhom  across  the 
snow  to  the  mine  spur,  that  they  might  be  ready 
to  meet  the  climbing  party  and  carry  the  superin 
tendent  down  to  the  mine  hospital. 

Thirty  feet  below  the  mine  track  and  as  far 
above  where  Glover  at  that  moment  was  sitting — 
his  rope  made  fast  and  his  legs  hanging  over  a 
ledge,  while  his  companions  reached  new  positions 
— a  granite  wall  rises  to  where  the  upper  face  has 
been  blasted  away  from  the  roadbed.  To  the  east, 
this  wall  hangs  without  a  break  up  or  down  for  a 
hundred  feet,  but  to  the  west  it  roughens  and  splits 
away  from  the  main  spur,  forming  a  crevice  or 
chimney  from  two  to  three  feet  wide,  opening  at 
the  top  to  ten  feet,  where  a  small  bridge  carries  the 
track  across  it.  This  chimney  had  been  Dancing's 
quest  from  the  moment  the  ascent  began,  for  he 

253 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

had  lost  a  man  in  that  chimney  when  string 
ing  the  mine  wires,  and  knew  precisely  what  it 
was. 

The  chimney  once  gained,  Dancing  figured  that 
the  last  thirty  feet  should  be  easy  work,  and  he 
had  made  but  one  miscalculation — when  he  had 
descended  it  to  pull  up  his  lineman,  it  was  summer. 
Without  extraordinary  difficulty,  Glover  gained 
the  ledge  where  the  chimney  opened  and  waited 
for  his  companions  to  ascend.  When  all  were 
up,  they  rested  a  few  moments  on  their  dizzy 
perch,  and,  while  Bill  Dancing  investigated  the 
chimney,  Glover  took  the  chance  to  renew  once 
more  Morris  Blood's  bandages,  which,  strained 
by  the  climbing,  caused  continual  anxiety. 

Bucks,  with  the  party  in  his  glass,  could  see 
every  move.  He  saw  Dancing  disappear  into  the 
rock  while  his  comrades  rested,  and  made  him  out, 
after  some  delay,  reappearing  from  the  cleft. 
What  he  could  not  make  out  was  the  word  that 
Dancing  brought  back;  the  chimney  was  a  solid 
mass  of  ice. 

Standing  with  the  two  men,  Gertrude  used  her 
glass  constantly.  Frequently  she  asked  questions, 
but  frequently  she  divined  ahead  of  her  companions 
the  directions  and  the  movements.  The  hesitation 
that  followed  Dancing's  return  did  not  escape  her. 
Up  and  down  the  narrow  step  on  which  they  stood, 

254 


The  South  Arete 

the  three  men  walked,  scanning  anxiously  the  wall 
that  stretched  above  them. 

So,  hounds  at  fault  on  a  trail  double  on  their 
steps  and  move  uneasily  to  and  fro,  nosing  the 
missing  scent.  As  lions  flatten  behind  their  cage- 
bars,  the  climbers  laid  themselves  against  the 
rock  and  pushed  to  the  right  and  the  left  seeking 
an  avenue  of  escape.  They  had  every  right  to  ex 
pect  that  help  would  already  have  reached  them, 
but  on  the  hill,  through  haste  and  confusion  of  or 
ders,  the  new  rotary  had  stripped  a  gear,  and  an 
hour  had  been  lost  in  getting  in  the  second  plough. 
For  safety,  the  climbers  had  in  their  predicament 
nothing  to  fear.  The  impelling  necessity  for  ac 
tion  was  the  superintendent's  condition;  his  com 
panions  knew  he  could  not  last  long  without  a  sur 
geon. 

When  suspense  had  become  unbearable,  Dan 
cing  re-entered  the  chimney.  He  was  gone  a  long 
time.  He  reappeared,  crawling  slowly  out  on  an 
unseen  footing,  a  mere  flaw  in  the  smooth  stretch 
of  granite  half  way  up  to  the  track.  By  cutting  his 
rope  and  throwing  himself  a  dozen  times  at  death, 
old  Bill  Dancing  had  gained  a  foothold,  made  fast 
a  line,  and  divided  the  last  thirty  feet  to  be  cov 
ered.  One  by  one,  his  companions  disappeared 
from  sight — not  into  the  chimney,  but  to  the  side 
of  it  where  Dancing  had  blazed  a  few  dizzy  steps 

255 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

and  now  had  a  rope  dangling  to  make  the  ascent 
practicable. 

One  by  one,  Gertrude  saw  the  climbers,  reap 
pearing  above,  crawl  like  flies  out  on  the  face  of 
the  rock  and,  with  craning  necks  and  cautious  steps, 
seek  new  advantage  above.  They  discovered  at 
length  the  remains  of  a  scrub  pine  jutting  out  be 
low  the  railroad  track.  The  tree  had  been  sawed 
off  almost  at  the  root,  when  the  roadbed  was  lev 
elled,  and  a  few  feet  of  the  trunk  was  left  hugging 
upward  against  the  granite  wall. 

Glover,  Young,  and  Dancing  consulted  a  mo 
ment.  The  thing  was  not  impossible ;  the  superin 
tendent  was  bleeding  to  death. 

Spectators  across  the  gap  saw  movements  they 
could  not  quite  comprehend.  Safety  lines  were 
overhauled  for  the  last  time,  the  picks  put  in  the 
keeping  of  Morris  Blood,  who  lay  flat  on  the 
ledge.  Glover  and  Bill  Dancing,  facing  outward, 
planted  themselves  side  by  side  against  the  rocky 
wall.  Smith  Young,  facing  inward,  flattened  him 
self  in  Glover's  arms,  passed  across  him  and,  push 
ing  his  safety-girdle  well  up  under  his  arms,  stood 
a  moment  between  the  two  big  men.  Glover  and 
Dancing,  getting  their  hands  through  the  belt  from 
either  side,  gripped  him,  and  Young  uncoiled  from 
his  right  hand  a  rope  noosed  like  a  lariat.  Stead 
ied  by  his  companions  and  swinging  his  arms  in  a 

256 


The  South  Arete 

cautious  segment  on  the  wall,  he  tried  to  hitch  the 
noose  over  the  trunk  of  the  pine. 

With  the  utmost  skill  and  patience,  he  coaxed 
the  loop  up  again  and  again  into  the  air  overhead, 
but  the  brush  of  the  short  branches  against  the 
rock  defeated  every  attempt  to  get  a  hold. 

He  rested,  passed  the  rope  into  his  other  hand, 
and  with  the  same  collected  persistence  endeav 
ored  to  throw  it  over  from  the  left. 

Sweat  beaded  Bucks'  forehead  as  he  looked. 
Gertrude's  father,  the  man  of  sixty  millions,  with 
nerves  bedded  in  ice,  crushed  an  unlighted  cigar 
between  his  teeth,  and  tried  to  steady  the  glass  that 
shook  in  his  hand.  Gertrude,  resting  one  hand  on 
a  bowlder  against  which  she  steadied  herself, 
neither  spoke  nor  moved.  The  roadmaster  could 
not  land  his  line. 

The  two  men  released  him  and,  with  arms 
spread  wide,  he  slipped  over  to  where  Morris 
Blood  lay,  took  from  him  the  two  picks,  and  cau 
tiously  rejoined  his  comrades.  Two  of  the  men 
reversing  their  positions,  faced  the  rock  wall. 
They  fixed  a  pick  into  a  cranny  between  their 
heads,  crouched  together,  and  the  third,  planting 
his  feet  first  on  their  knees  and  then  their  shoul 
ders,  was  raised  slowly  above  them. 

The  glasses  turned  from  afar  caught  a  sheen 
of  sunshine  that  spread  for  an  instant  across  the 

257 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

face  of  the  mountain  and  sharply  outlined  the  flat 
tened  form  high  on  the  arete.  The  figure  seemed 
brought  by  the  dazzling  light  startlingly  near,  and 
those  looking  could  distinguish  in  his  hand  a  pick, 
which,  with  his  right  arm  extended,  he  slowly 
swung  up  and  up  the  face  of  the  rock  until  he 
should  swing  it  high  to  hook  through  the  roots  of 
the  pine. 

Gertrude  asked  Bucks  who  it  was  that  spread 
himself  above  his  comrades,  and  he  answered, 
Dancing;  but  it  was  Glover. 

Deliberately  his  extended  arm  rose  and  fell  in 
the  arc  he  was  following,  higher  and  higher,  till 
the  pick  swung  above  his  head  and  lodged  where 
he  sent  it  among  the  pine-tree  roots.  At  the  very 
moment,  one  of  the  men  supporting  him  moved — 
the  pick  had  dislodged  a  heavy  chip  of  granite; 
in  falling  it  struck  his  crouching  supporter  on  the 
head.  The  man  steadied  himself  instantly,  but  the 
single  instant  cost  the  balance  of  the  upmost  figure. 
With  a  suppressed  struggle,  heartbreaking  half  a 
mile  away,  the  man  above  strove  to  right  himself. 
Like  light  his  second  hand  reached  for  the  pick 
handle;  he  could  not  recover  it.  The  pyramid 
wavered  and  Glover,  helpless,  spread  his  hands 
wide. 

By  an  instinct  deeper  than  life,  she  knew  him 
then,  and  cried  out  and  out  in  agony.  But  the 

258 


The  South  Arete 

pyramid  was  dissolving  before  his  eyes,  and  she 
saw  a  strange  figure  with  outstretched  arms,  a 
figure  she  no  longer  knew,  slowly  slipping  headlong 
down  a  blood-red  wall  that  burned  itself  into  her 
brain. 


259 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

BUSINESS 

CRUELLY  broken  and  bruised,  Young,  Bill 
Dancing,  and  Glover  late  that  night  were 
brought  up  in  rope  cradles  by  the  wrecking  derrick 
and  taken  into  the  Brock  car,  turned  by  its 
owner  into  a  hospital.  An  hour  after  the  fall  on 
the  south  arete  the  hill  blockade  had  been  broken. 
With  word  of  the  disaster  to  nerve  men  already 
strained  to  the  utmost,  effort  became  superhuman, 
the  impossible  was  achieved,  and  the  relief  train 
run  in  on  the  mine  track. 

Morris  Blood,  unconscious,  was  lifted  from  the 
narrow  shelf  at  four  o'clock  and  put  under  a  sur 
geon's  care  in  time  to  save  his  life.  To  rig  a  tackle 
for  a  three-hundred- foot  lift  was  another  matter; 
but  even  while  the  derrick-car  stood  idle  on  the 
spur  waiting  for  the  cable  equipment  from  the 
mine,  a  laughing  boy  of  a  surgeon  from  the  hos 
pital  was  lowered  with  the  first  of  the  linemen  to 
the  snow-field  where  the  three  men  roped  together 
had  fallen,  and  surgical  aid  reached  them  before 
sunset. 

260 


Business 

Last  to  come  up,  because  he  still  gave  the  orders, 
Glover,  cushioned  and  strapped  in  the  tackle,  was 
lifted  out  of  the  blackness  of  the  night  into  the 
streaming  glare  of  the  headlights.  Very  carefully 
he  was  swung  down  to  the  mattresses  piled  on  the 
track,  and,  before  all  that  looked  and  waited,  a 
woman  knelt  and  kissed  his  sunken  eyes.  Not  then 
did  the  men,  dim  in  the  circle  about  them,  show 
what  they  felt,  though  they  knew,  to  the  meanest 
trackhand,  all  it  meant;  not  when,  after  a  bare 
moment  of  hesitation,  Gertrude's  father  knelt  op 
posite  on  the  mattress-pile,  did  they  break  their 
silence,  though  they  shrewdly  guessed  what  that 
meant. 

But  when  Glover  pulled  together  his  disordered 
members  and  at  Gertrude's  side  walked  without 
help  to  the  step  of  the  car,  the  murmur  broke  into 
a  cheer  that  rang  from  Pilot  to  Glen  Tarn. 

"It  was  more  than  half  my  fault,"  he  breathed 
to  her,  after  his  broken  arms  had  been  set  and 
the  long  gash  on  his  head  stitched.  "I  need  not 
have  lost  my  balance  if  I  had  kept  my  head.  Ger 
trude,  I  may  as  well  admit  it — I'm  a  coward  since 
I've  begun  to  love  you.  I've  never  told  you  how 
I  saw  your  face  once  between  the  curtains  of  an 
empty  sleeper.  But  it  came  back  to  me  just  as  Dan 
cing's  shoulder  slipped — that's  why  I  went.  I'm 
done  forever  with  long  chances."  And  she,  silent, 

261 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

tried  only  to  quiet  him  while  the  car  moved  down 
the  gap  bearing  them  from  Pilot  together. 

"Do  you  know  what  day  to-morrow  is?"  Ger 
trude  was  opening  a  box  of  flowers  that  Solomon 
had  brought  from  the  express-office ;  Glover,  plas 
tered  with  bandages,  was  standing  before  the  grate 
fire  in  the  hotel  parlor. 

"To-morrow?"  he  echoed.    "Sunday." 

"Sunday!  Why  do  you  always  guess  Sunday 
when  I  ask  you  what  day  it  is?" 

"You  would  think  every  day  Sunday  if  you  had 
had  as  good  a  time  as  I  have  for  six  weeks." 

"The  doctor  does  say  you're  doing  beautifully. 
I  asked  him  yesterday  how  soon  you  would  be  well 
and  he  said  you  never  had  been  so  well  since  he 
knew  you.  But  what  is  to-morrow  ?" 

"Thanksgiving." 

"Thanksgiving,  indeed!  Yes,  every  day  is 
Thanksgiving  for  us.  But  it's  not  especially  that." 

"Christmas." 

"Nonsense!  To-morrow  is  the  second  anniver 
sary  of  our  engagement." 

"My  Lord,  Gertrude,  have  we  been  engaged 
two  years?  Why,  at  that  rate  I  can't  possibly 
marry  you  till  I'm  forty-four." 

"It  isn't  two  years,  it's  two  months.  And  to 
night  they  have  their  memorial  services  for  poor 

262 


Business 

Paddy  McGraw.  And,  do  you  know,  your  friend 
Mr.  Foley  has  our  engine  now?  Yes;  he  came 
up  the  other  day  to  ask  about  you,  but  in  reality 
to  tell  me  he  had  been  promoted.  I  think  he  ought 
to  have  been,  after  I  spoke  myself  to  Mr.  Archi 
bald  about  it.  But  what  touched  me  was,  the  poor 
fellow  asked  if  I  wouldn't  see  about  getting 
some  flowers  for  the  memorial  at  the  engineer's 
lodge  to-night — and  he  didn't  want  his  wife 
to  know  anything  about  it,  because  she  would 
scold  him  for  spending  his  money — see  what 
you  are  coming  to !  So  I  suggested  he  should 
let  me  provide  his  flowers  and  ours  together,  and 
when  I  tried  to  find  out  what  he  wanted,  he  asked 
if  a  throttle  made  of  flowers  would  be  all 
right." 

"Your  heart  would  not  let  you  say  no?" 
"I  told  him  it  would  be  lovely,  and  to  leave  it 
all  to  me." 

She  brought  forward  the  box  she  was  opening. 
"See  how  they  have  laid  this  throttle-bar  of  vio 
lets  across  these  Galax  leaves — and  latched  it  with 
a  rose.  Here,  Solomon,"  she  called  the  boy  from 
an  adjoining  room,  "take  this  very  carefully.  No. 
There  isn't  any  card.  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  as  he 
left,  and  she  clasped  her  lifted  hands,  "I  am  glad, 
I  am  glad  we  are  leaving  these  mountains.  Do 
you  know  papa  is  to  be  here  to-morrow?  And  that 

263 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

your  speech  must  be  ready?  He  isn't  going  to  give 
his  consent  without  being  asked." 

"I  suppose  not,"  said  Glover,  dejectedly. 

"What  are  you  going  to  say?" 

"I  shall  say  that  I  consider  him  worthy  of  my 
confidence  and  esteem." 

"I  think  you  would  make  more  headway,  dear 
est,  if  you  should  tell  him  you  considered  yourself 
worthy  of  his  confidence  and  esteem." 

"But,  hang  it,  I  don't." 

"Well,  couldn't  you,  for  once,  fib  a  little  ?  Oh, 
Ab ;  I'll  tell  you  what  I  wish  you  could  do." 

"Pray  what?" 

"Talk  a  little  business  to  him.  I  feel  sure,  if 
you  could  only  talk  business  awhile,  papa  would 
be  all  right." 

"Business!  If  it's  only  a  question  of  talking 
business,  the  thing's  as  good  as  done.  I  can't  talk 
anything  but  business." 

"Can't  you,  indeed!  I  like  that.  Pray  what 
did  you  talk  to  me  on  the  platform  of  my  father's 
own  car?" 

"Business." 

"You   talked  the  silliest  stuff   I  ever  listened 

"Not  reflecting  on  anyone  present,  of  course." 

"And,  Ab " 

"Yes." 

264 


Business 

"If  you  could  take  him  aback  somehow — noth 
ing  would  give  him  such  an  idea  of  you.  I  think 
that  was  what — well,  I  was  so  completely  overcome 
by  your  audacity " 

"You  seemed  so,"  commented  Glover,  rather 
grimly.  "Very  well,  if  you  want  him  taken  aback, 
I  will  take  him  aback,  even  if  I  have  to  resort  to 
force."  He  withdrew  his  right  arm  from  its  sling 
and  began  unwrapping  the  bandages  and  throwing 
the  splints  into  the  fire. 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  doing?"  asked  Ger 
trude,  in  consternation. 

"There's  no  use  carrying  these  things  any 
longer.  My  right  arm  is  just  as  strong  as  it  ever 
was — and  to  tell  the  truth " 

"Now  keep  your  distance,  if  you  please." 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  never  could  play  ball  left- 
handed,  anyway,  Gertrude.  Now,  let's  begin  easy. 
Just  shake  hands  with  me." 

"I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  It's  bad  form, 
anyway.  You  may  just  shake  hands  with  yourself. 
All  things  considered,  I  think  you  have  good 
reason  to." 

"I  understand  you  were  chief  engineer  of  this 
system  at  one  time,"  began  Mr.  Brock,  at  the  very 
outset  of  the  dreaded  interview. 

"I  was,"  answered  Glover. 
265 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"And  that  you  resigned  voluntarily  to  take  an 
inferior  position  on  the  Mountain  Division?" 

"That  is  true." 

"Railroad  men  with  ambition,"  commented  Mr. 
Brock,  dryly,  "don't  usually  turn  their  faces  from 
responsibility  in  that  way.  They  look  higher,  and 
not  lower." 

"I  thought  I  was  looking  higher  when  I  came 
to  the  mountains." 

"That  may  do  for  a  joke,  but  I  am  talking  busi 
ness." 

"I,  too;  and  since  I  am,  let  me  explain  to  you 
why  I  resigned  a  higher  position  for  a  lower  one. 
The  fact  is  well  known;  the  reason  isn't.  I  came 
to  this  road  at  the  call  of  your  second  vice-presi 
dent,  Mr.  Bucks.  I  have  always  enjoyed  a  large 
measure  of  his  confidence.  We  saw  some  years 
ago  that  a  reorganization  was  inevitable,  and 
spent  many  nights  discussing  the  different  features 
of  it.  This  is  what  we  determined :  That  the  key 
to  this  whole  system  with  its  eight  thousand  miles 
of  main  line  and  branches  is  this  Mountain  Divi 
sion.  To  operate  the  system  economically  and  suc 
cessfully  means  that  the  grades  must  be  reduced 
and  the  curvature  reduced  on  this  division.  Surely, 
with  you,  I  need  not  dwell  on  the  A  B  C's  of  twen 
tieth  century  railroading.  It  is  the  road  that  can 
handle  the  tonnage  cheapest  that  will  survive.  All 

266 


Business 

this  we  knew,  and  I  told  him  to  put  me  out  on  this 
division.  It  was  during  the  receivership  and  there 
was  no  room  for  frills. 

"I  have  worked  here  on  a  small  salary  and  done 
everything  but  maul  spikes  to  keep  down  expenses 
on  the  division,  because  we  had  to  make  some 
showing  to  whoever  wanted  to  buy  our  junk.  In 
this  way  I  took  a  roving  commission  and  packed 
my  bag  from  an  office  where  I  could  acquire  noth 
ing  I  did  not  already  know  to  a  position  where  I 
could  get  hold  of  the  problem  of  mountain  trans 
portation  and  cut  the  coal  bills  of  the  road  in  two." 

"Have  you  done  it?" 

"Have  I  cut  the  coal  bills  in  two?  No;  but  I 
have  learned  how.  It  will  cost  money  to  do 
that " 

"How  much  money?" 

"Thirty  millions  of  dollars." 

"A  good  deal  of  money." 

"No." 

"No?" 

"No.  Don't  let  us  be  afraid  to  face  figures.  You 
will  spend  a  hundred  millions  before  you  quit,  Mr. 
Brock,  and  you  will  make  another  hundred  mill 
ions  in  doing  it.  To  put  it  bluntly,  the  mountains 
must  be  brought  to  terms.  For  three  years  I  have 
eaten  and  lived  and  slept  with  them.  I  know  every 
grade,  curve,  tunnel,  and  culvert  from  here  to  Bear 

267 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

Dance — yes,  to  the  coast.  The  day  of  heavy 
gradients  and  curves  for  transcontinental  tonnage 
is  gone  by.  If  I  ever  get  a  chance,  I  will  rip  this 
right  of  way  open  from  end  to  end  and  make  it 
possible  to  send  freight  through  these  ranges  at 
a  cost  undreamed  of  in  the  estimates  of  to-day. 
But  that  was  not  my  only  object  in  coming  to  the 
mountains." 

"Go  ahead." 

"Mr.  Bucks  and  the  men  he  has  gathered 
around  him — Callahan,  Blood  and  the  rest  of  us — 
are  railroad  men.  Railroading  is  our  business;  we 
know  nothing  else.  There  was  an  embarrassing 
chance  that  when  our  buyer  came  he  might  be  hos 
tile  to  the  present  management.  Happily,"  Glover 
bowed  to  the  Pittsburg  magnate,  "he  isn't;  but  he 
might  have  been " 

"I  see." 

"We  were  prepared  for  that." 

"How?" 

"I  shouldn't  speak  of  this  if  I  did  not  know  you 
were  Mr.  Bucks'  closest  friend.  Even  he  doesn't 
know  it,  but  six  months  of  my  own  time — not  the 
company's — I  put  in  on  a  matter  that  concerned 
my  friends  and  myself,  and  I  have  the  notes  for  a 
new  line  to  parallel  this  if  It  were  needed — and 
Blood  and  I  have  the  only  pass  within  three  hun 
dred  miles  north  or  south  to  run  it  over.  These 

268 


Business 

were  some  of  the  reasons,  Mr.  Brock,  why  I  came 
to  the  mountains." 

"I  understand.  I  understand  perfectly.  Mr. 
Glover,  what  is  your  age,  sir?" 

The  time  seemed  ripe  to  put  Gertrude's  second 
hint  into  play. 

"That  is  a  subject  I  never  discuss  with  anyone, 
Mr.  Brock." 

He  waited  just  a  moment  to  let  the  magnate 
get  his  breath,  and  continued,  "May  I  tell  you 
why?  When  the  road  went  into  the  receivership, 
I  was  named  as  one  of  the  receivers  on  behalf  of 
the  Government.  The  President,  when  I  first  met 
him  during  my  term,  asked  for  my  father,  thinking 
he  was  the  man  that  had  been  recommended  to 
him.  He  wouldn't  believe  me  when  I  assured  him 
I  was  his  appointee.  'If  I  had  known  how  young 
you  were,  Glover,'  said  he  to  me,  afterward,  'I 
never  should  have  dared  appoint  you.'  The  posi 
tion  paid  me  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  a  year 
for  four  years;  but  the  incident  paid  me  better 
than  that,  for  it  taught  me  never  to  discuss  my 
age." 

"I  see.  I  see.  A  fine  point.  You  have  taught 
me  something.  By  the  way,  about  the  pass  you 
spoke  of — I  suppose  you  understand  the  impor 
tance  of  getting  hold  of  a  strategic  point  like  that 
to — a — forestall — competition  ?" 

269 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"I  have  hold  of  it." 

"I  do  not  mind  saying  to  you,  under  all  the  cir 
cumstances,  that  there  has  been  a  little  friction  with 
the  Harrison  people.  Do  you  see  ?  And,  for  rea 
sons  that  may  suggest  themselves,  there  may  be 
more.  They  might  conclude  to  run  a  line  to  the 
coast  themselves.  The  young  man  has,  I  believe, 
been  turned  down " 

"I  understood  the — the  slate  had  been — changed 
slightly,"  stammered  Glover,  coloring. 

"There  might  be  resentment,  that's  all.  Blood 
is  loyal  to  us,  I  presume." 

"There's  no  taint  anywhere  in  Morris  Blood. 
He  is  loyalty  itself." 

"What  would  you  think  of  him  as  General 
Manager?  Callahan  goes  to  the  river  as  Traffic 
Manager.  Mr.  Bucks,  you  know,  is  the  new  Pres 
ident;  these  are  his  recommendations.  What  do 
you  think  of  them  ?" 

"No  better  men  on  earth  for  the  positions,  and 
I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  them  get  what  they  de 
serve." 

"Our  idea  is  to  leave  you  right  here  in  the  moun 
tains."  It  was  hard  to  be  left  completely  out  of 
the  new  deal,  but  Glover  did  not  visibly  wince. 
"With  the  title,"  added  Mr.  Brock,  after  he  knew 
his  arrow  had  gone  home,  "with  the  title  of  Second 
Vice-president,  which  Mr.  Bucks  now  holds.  That 

270 


Business 

will  give  you  full  swing  in  your  plans  for  the  re 
building  of  the  system.  I  want  to  see  them  carried 
out  as  the  estimates  I've  been  studying  this  winter 
show.  Don't  thank  me.  I  did  not  know  till  yes 
terday  they  were  entirely  your  plans.  You  can 
have  every  dollar  you  need;  it  will  rest  with  you 
to  produce  the  results.  I  guess  that's  all.  No, 
stop.  I  want  you  to  go  East  with  us  next  week  for 
a  month  or  two  as  our  guest.  You  can  forward 
your  work  the  faster  when  you  get  back,  and  I 
should  like  you  to  meet  the  men  whose  money  you 
are  to  spend.  Were  you  waiting  to  see  Gertrude  ?" 

"Why— yes,  sir— I " 

"I'll  see  whether  she's  around." 

Gertrude  did  not  appear  for  some  moments, 
then  she  half  ran  and  half  glided  in,  radiant.  "I 
couldn't  get  away!"  she  exclaimed.  "He's  talking 
about  you  yet  to  Aunt  Jane  and  Marie.  He  says 
you're  charged  with  dynamite — /  knew  that — a 
most  remarkable  young  man.  How  did  you  ever 
convince  him  you  knew  anything?  I  am  confident 
you  don't.  You  must  have  taken  him  somehow 
aback,  didn't  you?" 

"If  you  want  to  give  your  father  a  touch  of 
asthma,"  suggested  Glover,  "ask  him  how  old  I 
am;  but  he  had  me  scared  once  or  twice,"  admitted 
the  engineer,  wiping  the  cold  sweat  from  his  wrists. 

"Did  he  give  his  consent?" 
271 


The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate 

"Why — hang  it — I — we  got  to  talking  business 
and  I  forgot  to " 

"So  like  you,  dear.  However,  it  must  be  all 
right,  for  he  said  he  should  need  your  help  in  buy 
ing  the  coast  branches  and  The  Short  Line." 

"The  Short  Line,"  gasped  Glover.  "Well,  I 
haven't  inventoried  lately.  If  we  marry  in 
June- 

"Don't  worry  about  that,  for  we  sha'n't  marry 
in  June,  my  love." 

"But  when  we  do,  we  shall  need  some  money 
for  a  wedding-trip " 

"We  certainly  shall;  a  lot  of  it,  dearie." 

"I  may  have  ten  or  twelve  hundred  left  after 
that  is  provided  for.  But  my  confidence  in  your 
father's  judgment  is  very  great,  and  if  he's  going 
to  make  up  a  pool,  my  money  is  at  his  service,  as 
far  as  it  will  go,  to  buy  The  Short  Line — or  any 
other  line  he  may  take  a  fancy  to." 

"Why,  he's  just  telling  Marie  about  your  mak 
ing  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  four  years  by 
being  wonderfully  shrewd " 

"But  that  confounded  mine  that  I  told  you 
about " 

"You  dear  old  stupid.  Never  mind,  you  have 
made  a  real  strike  to-day.  But  if  you  ever  again 
delude  papa  into  thinking  you  know  more  than  I 
do,  I  shall  expose  you  without  mercy." 

272 


Business 

The  train,  a  private  car  special,  carrying  Mr. 
Brock,  chairman  of  the  board,  and  his  family,  the 
new  president  and  the  second  vice-president  elect, 
was  pulling  slowly  across  the  long,  high  spans  of  the 
Spider  bridge.  Glover  and  Gertrude  had  gone 
back  to  the  observation  platform.  Leaning  on  his 
arm,  she  was  looking  across  the  big  valley  and  into 
the  west.  The  sun,  setting  clear,  tinged  with  gold 
the  far  snows  of  the  mountains. 

"It  is  less  than  a  year,"  she  was  murmuring, 
"since  I  crossed  this  bridge;  think  of  it.  And 
what  bridges  have  I  not  crossed  since !  See.  Your 
mountains  are  fading  away " 

"My  mountains  faded  away,  dear  heart,  don't 
you  know,  when  you  told  me  I  might  love  you. 
As  for  those" — his  eyes  turned  from  the  distant 
ranges  back  to  her  eyes — "after  all,  they  brought 
me  you." 


THE    END 


273 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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PS  3537  S7345d 


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College 
Library 


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